


An Angel in Wonderland (a.k.a. Who Killed the Chesire Cat?)

by anoradh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Big Bang Challenge, Crossover, Humor, M/M, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoradh/pseuds/anoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all, really. Set in Wonderland, from Lewis Carroll's <i>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down the Well

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written as part of the [2012 Dean/Castiel Big Bang challenge](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com). 
> 
> The story is set some time during season 6. 
> 
> During this challenge, I had the great privilege of working with the sweet and wonderful Melissa. She's the artist behind all the gorgeous art, so I think you should all go [here](http://muse-of-melissa.livejournal.com/12414.html) and tell her exactly how amazing she is. Seriously, the art is by far the best part of the story, so even if you decide not to read the story, you really should go check out the art.
> 
> I'd also like to thank Melissa for being such a great source of inspiration and encouragement. She's also the person behind much of the ending, so everything that's good about it is all thanks to her and everything that's bad about it is my fault for not being able to take proper advantage of her wonderful ideas.
> 
> I would like to thank my wonderful alpha/beta [Mel](http://landahoymateys.livejournal.com) for her excellent advice and for going over the first drafts of this story with a fine-tooth comb. It would most certainly have been a lot worse, but for her suggestions. I only wish I had been able to use more of them.
> 
> I owe a huge thank you to my second beta [Terra](http://terrorinyertub.livejournal.com) for taking the time to go over the final draft of the story and finding all the mistakes that I had missed. She also gave me the courage to actually go through with posting this.
> 
> Finally, I would like to thank my dear friend [Worm](http://yavaworm.livejournal.com) for encouraging me to sign up for this challenge. If not for her, I probably would not have done so and considering how much fun I've had and the wonderful people I've met, that would have been a great loss. So thank you, sweetie! I'm sorry there isn't more Sam in this story!
> 
>  The LiveJournal Masterpost can be found [here](http://anoradh.livejournal.com/16063.html).

Castiel was falling. It was not like before, when he had been losing his Grace and falling towards humanity. This was a literal fall. It was also a very long fall and it felt almost as slow as that other fall. He was lying on his back in empty air and staring up at what looked like a deep, dark well, through which he was falling. It was a very deep well indeed. It seemed almost endless. Castiel had tried looking down to try to gauge how much further he had to fall, but all that he could see was blackness. He had therefore given up that attempt and looked upwards instead. At the very top, there was a tiny pinprick of light, which Castiel assumed was the opening to the world outside. It looked like nothing more than a speck of white on a black surface. Assuming that it was the hole through which Castiel had fallen into the well, he must have been falling for quite some time in order for it to have become so distant. He only wished that he could remember how his fall had begun.

A fall as long as this leaves one plenty of time to think. The foremost thought on Castiel's mind was how he had ended up there. He really could not remember. One moment he had been a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, occupied in battle against Raphael’s forces; the next, he had found himself inside his vessel and falling down this well. He also seemed to be cut off from his angelic powers, though he could not understand how that could be. It was all highly disturbing, not to mention very perplexing. All that he could surmise was that it must have something to do with Dean and Sam. Everything in Castiel's life lately had something to do with Dean and Sam. The first thing that he should do, therefore, when this fall ended, was to get out of the well and go find his human friends.

Now that his mind had resolved on this course of action, it was free to focus on other things. For example, Castiel now had time to examine the well down which he was falling. It was a very strange well, not at all what one might have expected if one had never fallen down a well before - which, incidentally, Castiel had not. He did think, however, that there was a distinct possibility that this particular well would have seemed strange, even had he fallen down another well before.

It was not only that it was so very deep or that Castiel's fall was so very slow that made it strange. The walls were strange, as well. They were filled with bookshelves and cupboards. From what he could tell, many of these contained jars with perishables, such as different types of marmalade and jam. Castiel had never heard that humans liked to put up bookshelves and cupboards in their wells to store their food. He supposed it was cool enough down here to keep the food fresh, not to mention surprisingly dry for a well. However, he still thought that there must be better places for it. It seemed to him that it would require a great deal of effort to fetch the things that were being kept in the well.

There were also maps and pictures hanging on pegs here and there. Castiel could not think of what purpose they served, since no one would ever be likely to look at them. For one thing, the well was too dark for anyone to make them out properly. For another, as slowly as he was falling, Castiel was still falling past them too quickly to be able to study them. This was particularly frustrating, since Castiel suspected that they might otherwise have provided him with some clues as to his current predicament.

As he fell past one of the bookshelves, he reached out a hand to grab one of the books. When he looked at it, he discovered that it was a children's book. The author was someone named Lewis Carroll and the title of the book was _Through the Looking-Glass_. Castiel had never spent enough time on Earth to acquaint himself with many human works of fiction. This had proven to be a source of endless frustration, since Dean often liked to reference works of popular culture. Castiel thought, therefore, that he may as well avail himself of the time while he was falling to read as many books as he could, beginning with the one in his hand.

Of course, Castiel had no way of knowing whether this book even existed outside the well or if Dean had ever heard of it, but if not, at least he would be able to turn the tables on Dean and make references that he did not understand. In fact, as he began reading the book, he thought it quite likely that this was a special well-book. It was as peculiar as the rest of the well. The strangeness was partly due to the strangeness of the story, which Castiel still enjoyed immensely. It occurred to him that he must have changed in the time that he had known Dean, since he would not have been able to appreciate something so imaginative, and frankly ludicrous, before. Another part of the strangeness was the fact that the writing was all inverted. It presented no difficulty to an angel, of course, but a human would no doubt have required a mirror to read it.

By the time that Castiel had finished the book, he discovered that he would not have time to read another. This discovery was made in rather an abrupt fashion, by his landing suddenly in a heap of twigs and leaves at the bottom of the well. He stood up and put the book in one his trench-coat pockets. Then he brushed the leaves off his clothes and from his hair, and looked around.

It was still rather dark around him, but he could see a long passage stretching out before him. Since there seemed to be no other way out of the well without his powers, he began walking down it. He soon came to a rather sharp corner in the passage and behind it was a long, narrow hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the low ceiling. There were doors on both sides of the hall, but they were all locked.

At the end of the hall, there stood a glass table. On the table was a tiny, golden key and a small bottle, which had a label tied around its neck, on which was written the words "DRINK ME". Castiel was not in a habit of drinking unidentified liquids, so he ignored the bottle and its label. Instead he picked up the key, hoping that it would open one of doors leading out of the hall. He walked around the hall, looking for the right lock, but none of them were the right size for the key. They were all too big. With a sigh, Castiel returned to the table.

As he was standing there, thinking about what to do next, he heard a voice from somewhere below him. “You have to drink it,” it said, or rather slurred, in a somewhat high-pitched fashion.

Castiel looked down to find that a small rabbit was sitting at his feet. He was very cute and fluffy - not that Castiel would ever think in such terms - with a cottony tail, white fur, and long ears that were currently drooping. He was wearing a pinstripe jacket and a paisley waistcoat, and he was staring up at Castiel with a pitiful expression on his face. There was something familiar about that expression and without thinking, Castiel said, “Chuck?”

The Rabbit’s nose quivered, but the pitiful expression did not change. “The bottle,” he said and hiccuped. “You have to - hic - drink it.”

Castiel stared. “Are you drunk?” he asked. It seemed an easier question to ask than how it was that the prophet’s soul was now in the body of a rabbit.

At this, the Rabbit’s expression finally changed. He looked as though he was trying to scowl. “Maybe,” he said and hiccuped again. “I went to the Hatter’s tea-party, - hic! - but I don't think it was tea he was serving.” He hiccuped again. “He’s mad, you know,” he added.

Castiel blinked. “I see,” he said, although he did not.

“Look,” said the Rabbit, rising on his hind feet and swaying slightly, “are you going to drink or not?”

“What will it do?”

The Rabbit rolled his eyes. “You have to drink it to find out,” he said. He swallowed a burp and added thoughtfully, “Or was it to find _a way_ out?” He hiccuped a few times. “You’ll find something out, at least, that much I do know.”

Castiel picked up the bottle and examined it suspiciously. It looked harmless enough, but without his powers he could not make sure. The only way to find out was to drink it. Hoping that whatever it was would not be able to hurt angels, he took a sip. It had a strange combination of flavors. Castiel thought that he could taste cherries, pineapples, vanilla and sugar, as well as some sort of poultry and bread. However, it did not seem to be harmful, so Castiel quickly drank the rest of liquid as well, while the rabbit watched him unsteadily.

For a long while, nothing seemed to happen. Castiel was just about to tell the Rabbit that he had certainly not found something out, when he realized that he was no longer looking down at the furry little creature. They were now roughly the same size; in fact, the Rabbit even seemed to be slightly taller. “Oh,” the Rabbit said. “Right. That’s what it did.”

Castiel looked around. Judging by the size of the objects around him, he guessed that he was about ten inches tall. It was certainly a lot smaller than his true size and he experienced a moment of reverse vertigo. Fortunately, he was in the habit of squeezing himself into smaller vessels, so it only took him a moment to adjust.

He turned back to the Rabbit. He was examining a gold chain that was attached to his waistcoat and hung from one of its pockets. As the Rabbit pulled at it, a pocket-watch slipped out and into his paw. “Ever had the feeling,” said the Rabbit despondently, “that you’re late for something, only you can’t remember what _it_ is?”

Castiel thought about it for a moment. It was not a feeling that he was familiar with, so he told the Rabbit, “No.”

The Rabbit sighed. “No,” he said even more despondently. “I didn’t think so.” He stared at the watch morosely. “The door’s behind the curtain,” he said.

Castiel blinked. Then he looked around again. On one of the walls hung a low curtain, only now that Castiel was so small, it did not look very low at all. Castiel walked over to it and peered behind it. There was indeed a door there. Normally, it would have been too small for Castiel’s vessel to get through it, but now he was just the right size. He reached into his trench-coat pocket and took out the tiny key, which he had put there. It fit perfectly in the lock. Castiel unlocked the door, opened it, and walked through.


	2. A Mad Meeting

On the other side of the door, there was a beautiful garden. Everywhere Castiel looked, there were large beds of the bright flowers, tall, blossoming rose-trees and cool, rippling fountains. White footpaths of marble gravel crisscrossed the green grass. On either side of the paths grew hedges of huge rosebushes. The air was sweet and fragrant. It reminded Castiel of his home, of his Father’s garden, as perceived by many humans.

“‘scuse me,” said the Rabbit behind him. Castiel stepped aside to let him pass. “I really must be going.”

“Have you remembered what you were late for?” Castiel asked.

The Rabbit shook his head sadly and pulled at one of his ears. “Not yet,” he said, “but I imagine I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Castiel nodded. There did not seem to be anything to say. The Rabbit nodded too. He pulled out the pocket-watch again and looked at it. “Yes,” he said. “I must be going.” He peered around somewhat uncertainly, as if trying to decide _where_ he ought to be going. Then he started hopping down one of the paths, moving in a wobbly zigzagging pattern.

Before he had got very far, however, he seemed to remember something. He turned back to look at Castiel again. “The Queen is that way,” he said, pointing at another path. Then he turned around again and hopped away. Castiel stood still and watched him, until he rounded a corner and vanished behind some bushes. Once he was out of sight, Castiel turned and began walking down the path which the Rabbit had pointed toward.

As Castiel walked, he carefully took in his surroundings. Most of what he saw was pleasing to the eye, but he soon became aware that something did not seem quite right. The bushes were obviously well-kept and they were trimmed to perfection. The flowers grew in perfectly symmetrical patterns and in just the right abundance on most of the bushes and trees. However, every now and again, Castiel passed a bush or a tree where some of the flowers seemed to be missing. He wondered if they had simply wilted or if someone, as it looked, had cut them off. Compared to all the other strange things that he had seen, this did not seem so very odd, but it made him wonder who it was that kept this garden so beautiful and why they had overlooked these flaws.

As he contemplated these things, Castiel continued along the winding path through the garden. Several times he reached places where his path crossed others, but he did his best to continue in the direction that the White Rabbit had indicated. He was approaching a bend in the path, when he was met with the first sign that he was not alone in the garden. From behind the bushes that hid the rest of the path from view, there came the sounds of many feet marching in a steady rhythm, while a militaristic voice barked out orders and directions. "Right, right, right left, right," it chanted, in between shouts of, "Keep the line straight, Seven!" and "Don't bend so, Three!" There was also the sound of voices chattering and the laughter of children.

The approach of what sounded like some sort of military forces should perhaps have worried Castiel, but he doubted that any army with an intention to fight would have brought children along with them. Instead, he felt relieved at these signs that he was not alone in the garden. There were so many questions that he had to ask and he hoped that whoever was coming around the bend would be able to answer at least some of them. The most urgent questions were of course where he was and how he could get back to Heaven, but there were many other things that he was curious about, as well. If nothing else, they should at least be able to point him in the direction of the Queen, who would probably be able to provide him with some answers.

He never got an opportunity to ask about any of it, however, because he was halted abruptly by two strong hands grabbing his arms. Before he knew what was happening, he was being dragged into the bushes that grew thickly to his right and held down by someone larger and stronger than himself. He opened his mouth to protest, but one of those strong, warm hands covered his lips to keep him silent. Then his assailant's face came into view and Castiel stopped struggling immediately.

Dean grinned down at him from where he was lying practically on top of Castiel. His green eyes were sparkling and his white teeth gleamed in the sunlight. On his head, he wore a tall, red top hat with a green ribbon. The hat was tilting slightly, no doubt from the tumble that he and Castiel had taken. Castiel had never seen Dean wear any form of head-wear before. He would not have guessed that this particular hat would be Dean's style. It fit in well with the strange surroundings, however, so if Dean was trying to blend in, the hat was certainly helping.

As had happened more and more often lately when Castiel was in Dean's presence, he began to feel slightly odd. His vessel felt warm, almost feverish, where Dean's body pressed against it, while the angelic essence that was his true being fluttered disturbingly. Castiel had never been able to explain the queer things that Dean made him feel. He suspected that if he took the time to really think about it, he would be able to find an explanation. The trouble was that he also suspected that the explanation would not make either him or Dean very happy, which was why he kept putting it off. Besides, there were usually more pressing issues on his mind, such as right now, when he was trying to figure out why Dean had tackled him into the bushes.

Dean put a finger to his lips to signal to Castiel that he should keep quiet and remain hidden from the people who were now walking past them on the path. Castiel felt very confused. He could not think of any reason why he should not be seen. Perhaps the owner of the garden did not like trespassers. Whatever the reason, he trusted Dean, so he simply nodded that he had understood. Dean grinned again and released him. Side by side, they crept up to the bushes and pushed some of the branches aside, so that they could see the procession that was passing. It was like no procession that Castiel had ever seen.

The soldiers rounded the corner first. It was their marching footsteps that Castiel had heard. They walked as soldiers usually did, with their heads held high, their backs straight, and with clubs slung over their shoulders. They had the heads, arms and legs of regular humans. However, their bodies were entirely square, flat and made out of cardboard. In short, they were playing cards. They walked in three rows with three soldiers in each and the Ace of Clubs marched beside them, barking out his orders. Castiel could not help but wish that Raphael's soldiers had been like these. Then all he would have needed to defeat them would have been one good rainstorm.

After the soldiers came what Castiel could only assume were the courtiers. They were covered all over with diamonds, both as part of their suits and in their jewelery. They were talking quietly with each other, looking haughty and grave. Dean would no doubt have said that they looked dull and stupid, if he had not insisted on silence.

After them came the children, whose laughter Castiel had heard. They were skipping and dancing, hand in hand, and their suits were all covered with hearts. They were walking in front of a group of Kings, Queens and other, non-cardboard creatures. The White Rabbit was among them, looking guilty and nervous. Castiel assumed that he had at last remembered what he had been late for. There was also a finely dressed woman, whose face bore a remarkable resemblance to the demon that Sam and Dean called Meg.

Behind the Kings and Queens walked a single card man - the Knave of Hearts. He was walking proudly, carrying a crown on a crimson velvet cushion. He looked like the vessel of Balthazar, Castiel's old friend and ally. Behind him came another two figures, bringing up the rear of the procession. They were the King and Queen of Hearts, but they were also two beings that could not possibly be there. Castiel knew for a fact that they were both dead. Admittedly, he had not been present for either death, but that did not make him any less certain of their fates. Dean had killed one of them during their failed attempt to rescue his and Sam's brother Adam from the angels. Michael had killed the other to keep her from obliterating Sam's entire existence. And yet, here they were, Zachariah and Anna, walking arm in arm. Whoever had brought all this about was obviously far more powerful than Castiel had suspected.

Castiel stared after them, his head spinning, until he could no longer keep track of them through the branches. Then he withdrew from the bush and sat down heavily on the ground. There was a thump as Dean came to sit beside him, still grinning. Castiel got the sense that there was something off about his grin and his movements, but he could not quite put his finger on what it was.

"Man," Dean said, "that was close! What were you thinking, walking straight at them like that?"

Castiel frowned. "I was looking for the Queen," he replied. "The White Rabbit told me where I could find her."

Dean stared at him incredulously. "You were looking for the Queen?" he repeated. Then he burst into laughter, shaking his head. Castiel recognized this laughter. It was how Dean always laughed when Castiel had done something to show his ignorance of something that Dean considered obvious. For some reason, it had lately begun to make Castiel's cheeks feel uncomfortably hot.

"No, no, no," Dean said. "You don't go looking for the Queen. Not unless you've been summoned and even then you do your best to avoid it. Everybody knows that. Just be glad the Cheshire Cat told us what you were up to and that I was able to interpret him correctly, for once. Damn Cat and his riddles!"

"I don't understand," Castiel said, because he did not. "Why doesn't anyone want to look for the Queen?"

"Because," Dean said, lying back on the grass, "people tend to lose their heads around her." He grinned up at Castiel again, looking almost expectant, as if he was waiting for some reaction. Castiel would have loved to give it to him, but he was not sure what it was. It seemed to him as if Dean expected him to be amused by his comment, but Castiel did not understand the joke. He knew better than to take the comment literally, but unless Dean's amusement was over some embarrassing blunder that someone had committed when in the Queen's presence, he could not guess what was supposed to be funny.

Apparently his confusion was obvious, because Dean rolled his eyes, as he so often did when Castiel failed to produce the expected reaction. "You're really not from around here, are you?" he said.

"No," Castiel replied. "I'm really not." His voice may have been slightly sharper than he intended it to be, but he was really beginning to feel weary of ending up in places where so little made sense to him. First Earth with its strange human customs that he was just beginning to comprehend, and now this place that he did not even know where or what it was. It was really very frustrating.

Fortunately, Dean did not seem to mind his tone. Instead he merely raised himself on his elbows and eyed Castiel appraisingly for a moment. Then he said, "Guess you'll need a guide, then. To keep you from doing anything even more stupid."

"Thank you," Castiel said. He was only half-sincere. While he did appreciate Dean's offer, he did not appreciate his condescension.

"You're welcome," Dean said, ignoring his sarcasm. "I can't have people going around losing their heads, can I? Wouldn't be good for business." He grinned again, one of those strange grins, and Castiel suddenly realized what seemed off about him.

"You're drunk," he said.

Dean shrugged. "Drunk - mad," he said. "It's all semantics." He sat up and held out his hand. "I'm the Hatter."

Castiel looked down at his hand, but did not take it. He was feeling increasingly confused. "You're Dean," he said. For some reason it felt important to him to assert this fact.

Now it was Dean's turn to frown. "What's a dean?" he asked, lowering his hand. "Is that a courtly title? Like the Duchess? 'Cause I'm not at court.” He bit his lip, then grinned again and added, “Although I do make their hats.”

Castiel shook his head. He felt as if they were having two different conversations. Admittedly, he often felt like that around Dean, but that did not make it any less aggravating. "No," he said. "It's not a title. It's a name. Your name."

Dean, or the man who looked like him, shook his head. "No," he said slowly, after giving it some thought. "No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I'm just the Hatter. We don't use names around here. Except the White Rabbit. He's named all his servants: Bill, Pat and Mary Ann. But that's just because he loves words, even ones that don't mean anything. Especially ones that don't mean anything, if you ask me. The rest of us have no use for names. They're too vague. How are you supposed to know anything about someone if all you have is a name? For example, I'm sure you have a name?" He gave Castiel a questioning look.

"Yes," Castiel said. "It's Castiel."

"Right," Dean - the Hatter - said. "And what am I supposed to make of that? On the other hand, if you tell me _what_ you are...?"

"I'm an Angel of the Lord."

The Hatter wrinkled his nose. "No," he said, "that really doesn't tell me anything more. I don't think I've ever heard of an Angel before. You must be the first one ever to come to Wonderland. What is that you do? And which Lord is it that you serve?"

Castiel was not sure how to answer this. There was really no simple answer. He ignored the Hatter's questions, therefore, and asked one of his own instead. "What is Wonderland?"

The Hatter sat up and gestured to their surroundings. "This," he said. “Everything around us.” He gave Castiel a look that was surprisingly sharp for someone so inebriated. “You didn't know?”

Castiel shook his head. "No," he said. "I had no idea where I was."

The Hatter snorted. “And I thought I was the drunk one,” he said. "I usually know where I am, even if I don't always remember how I got there. Speaking of which, do you know how you got here?"

"I fell. Down a well."

"You fell down a well?” the Hatter repeated incredulously. “Seriously? How in the name of the Seven Wonders did you manage that?”

"I don't know," Castiel said honestly. "I just woke up and I was falling."

"Oh." The Hatter seemed as bemused by this as Castiel was. "Can't say I've heard that one before. Well, I do know about waking up in strange places, obviously, and I've done my fair share of falling, but the part about waking up in the middle of a fall is new.” He frowned. “Where were you before you fell?”

“In Heaven,” Castiel said.

“I see,” the Hatter said, but his face very clearly contradicted him. It was obvious that he was beginning to suspect that Castiel was the insane one. “You were in Heaven.”

“Yes.”

“And then you were falling?”

“Yes.”

"Oh." The Hatter blinked. “Well, they do say that the higher you are, the farther you fall, and you can't get much higher than Heaven.” Castiel considered correcting him, by telling him that Heaven was not actually located that high up; it was not really located in any direction, but the Hatter spoke again before he could say anything. “Have you fallen from Heaven before?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, thinking of the time when he had been losing his Grace, “but not like this.”

“No,” the Hatter said, “I shouldn’t think so. It doesn't exactly seem like the kind of thing you'd do more than once.” He was silent again, obviously thinking it all over. Finally, he asked, “So how are you going to get back up there?”

“I don't know,” Castiel said.

“But you do want to get back?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I have to. I am needed there.”

"Right.” The Hatter sighed. “Well, then, come on," he said, getting to his feet. He held out a hand to Castiel. Castiel took it and the Hatter pulled him to his feet. "I'll take you to my house and introduce you to my friends. Impossible problems is sort of our thing." He shook his head, as he put an arm around Castiel's shoulders and led him away from the path. “Fell down a well,” he said, “from Heaven. Dude, you're going to fit right in here.”


	3. What Time Is It?

The Hatter led Castiel along the paths of the rose garden and into a small forest. It was small, both in the number of trees and their size. They seemed proportionate to Castiel's current size. He was really quite glad that he had drunk the unknown liquid, since everything in Wonderland seemed to be as small as he was now. If he had been his vessel's usual size, he probably would have ended up trampling everything under his feet and he did not think that would have been very helpful to his cause.

Neither the Hatter, nor Castiel spoke again until they were out of sight of the garden. Then the Hatter said, "We should hurry. I was having tea when the Cheshire Cat came by to tell us about you. It'll probably be cold by now. Cold tea is disgusting. Especially when it was hot to begin with. Then again, I find all tea disgusting."

Castiel tilted his head confusedly. "Then why do you drink it?" he asked.

The Hatter sighed deeply. "Because it's always frickin' tea-time," he said. He clearly thought this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Castiel disagreed. "What do you mean?" he asked. "How can it always be tea-time?"

The Hatter sighed again. "Because Time won't move on."

"It stands still?" Castiel asked. To many people, this would have seemed odd, but Castiel was an Angel. He knew that time moves differently in different places. Admittedly, he had never before been in a place where it stood still, but if that were the case in Wonderland, it would not be the most surprising aspect of that place.

"Not always," the Hatter answered. "He's angry with me and he won't move past it."

Castiel blinked. The reply did not seem to fit the question. He was beginning to understand why the Rabbit had told him that the Hatter was mad.

"Who is angry with you?" he asked.

The Hatter gave him a strange look, as if he was the one who did not make sense. "Time," he said. "Pay attention, man!"

"Time is angry with you?" Castiel asked. He felt that this required clarification.

The Hatter rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said. "I did something to upset him and now he holds a grudge. That's why it's always tea-time. Because he knows that I hate tea."

Castiel thought about this for a while. "Do you have to drink tea?" he asked.

The Hatter gave him another strange look. "Of course I do," he said. "I told you, it's tea-time. What else am I supposed to do?"

Castiel thought some more. "Can't you drink something else?" he suggested.

"Of course not," the Hatter said. "It's tea-time. It isn't milk-time or water-time or lemonade-time. How can it be tea-time if you don't drink tea?” It was obvious that he found the idea absurd. Castiel found it quite bemusing how he could find the idea of drinking something other than tea at tea-time absurd, and yet accept such things as people made of cardboard and angels falling down wells with equanimity. He chose not to remark upon this, however, as he feared that it would only provide the Hatter with further proof of his ignorance.

"Of course,” the Hatter said, having apparently thought over what he had said, “you can drink other things at tea-time, as long as you drink it with your tea. For example, I sometimes pour whiskey in my tea. Although, to be perfectly honest, it isn't really just sometimes. And some people, such as the March Hare, would probably argue that I don't really put whiskey in my tea so much as I put tea in my whiskey. You shouldn't listen to him, though! That just happened once. I'm usually quite good at spelling, but k and t look very similar, you know, and with all the whiskey I'd been putting in the tea, I really don't think it's that strange that I put ‘t’ in my whiskey.”

Castiel blinked. He had only rarely spoken to Dean when the latter was truly drunk, but he was fairly sure that even a heavily inebriated Dean made more sense than the Hatter was doing at the moment. The only thing that he had really got out of the Hatter’s speech was that he now understood why the Rabbit had been drunk.

Because their current topic of conversation seemed particularly convoluted, Castiel decided that it hardly seemed worth it to continue to pursue it. Instead he reverted to their previous topic, by asking, "What did you do to anger Time?"

He was not really surprised that the Hatter had managed to make Time angry. Even if the Hatter was not actually Dean, the two of them still seemed to be very much alike, except for a few obvious differences, and Castiel had the greatest faith in Dean's ability to provoke anyone. It was not such a far leap to suppose that he could provoke any _thing_ , as well. He was more curious about how exactly the Hatter had done it.

The Hatter shrugged, as if it was of no consequence. "I got him wasted," he replied.

Castiel tilted his head again. "Time was wasted?" he asked.

The Hatter nodded. "Yes," he said, "and let me tell you, man, he does not like it when that happens. I think he's afraid he'll run out."

"Yes," Castiel said. "That seems like a valid concern."

"I guess," the Hatter said. "Anyway, I told him that I thought he should slow down. I mean, if you're afraid of running out, the best solution seems to be to just stay still. You can't run anywhere, either in or out, if you're standing still." He scratched his nose, looking a bit sheepish. “I admit that I didn't really think that one through, but I wasn't really expecting him to take my advice. He's a contrary bastard, that Time. The only reason he did as I told him was to teach me a lesson. So now it's always tea-time."

Castiel nodded. He understood now. "Time has always been difficult to control," he said. "That is why time travel is so hard.”

The Hatter stopped to stare at him. "You can travel through time?" he asked in a hopeful voice.

Castiel frowned and tilted his head. "Yes," he said. "At least I can on Earth. I'm not certain if the same rules apply here."

"Oh, I bet they do," the Hatter said. His eyes were shining. It was remarkable, Castiel thought, how their color could compete even with the unnaturally bright verdure of the Wonderland forest. "I bet you can get Time to change for me. Come on!"

The Hatter grabbed Castiel's arm eagerly and dragged him hurriedly along the path. Even without his powers, Castiel had no doubt that he could easily have broken free of his grasp, but he found that he had no desire to. Instead, he was more than willing to let himself be led wherever the Hatter wanted him to go.

It was not long before they reached a small house in a clearing in the forest. The house was really more of a cottage and it was built of wood. It had been painted in bright colors, with ribbons around the door and windows. Above the door hung a sign with a hat on it. The high chimney was also in the shape of a hat. It looked cozy and comfortable, but as with the Hatter's hat, it was not a house that Castiel could imagine Dean living in. Castiel was forced to reflect that despite all their similarities, there were some things that set Dean and the Hatter apart. It was not a happy thought, since Castiel was sure that his current predicament would have been easier to bear with his friend at his side. Still, the Hatter was like enough to Dean to provide him with some comfort and Castiel hoped that the differences would prove largely superficial.

On the lawn in front of the house, a table was set up. It was a long table with many chairs around it. In front of each chair was set a cup and a saucer. There were also a couple of teapots, three half-eaten cakes and a tiered cookie stand, with only a few cookies left on it. It was obvious that these leftovers were the remnants of a very long tea-party. Castiel also noticed three empty pie dishes. Clearly, the differences in taste between Dean and the Hatter did not extend to food.

Two guests were sitting at the table. One was a Hare with very long ears and a familiar, disgruntled expression on his face. Castiel had wondered if he would be meeting Sam here in Wonderland as well. He was glad to see that even here, the brothers were obviously friends, even if their different species made him doubt that they were actually related. Although, considering all that he had seen of Wonderland, he did not entirely rule out the possibility.

Beside the Hare sat a small Dormouse, who appeared to be asleep. His head was resting on the table, so Castiel could not see his face, but he thought he could guess who the Dormouse was anyway.

When Castiel and the Hatter approached the table, the Hare looked up and his disgruntled expression changed to one of relief. "Oh good!" he said. "You still have your head."

"Not only that," the Hatter said. "I was able to make sure that this Angel kept his head, too, so now we have two heads, which, as we all know, is better than one."

"Well," the March Hare said, "I think it's really one and a half, considering that one of the heads is yours, but still, you're right. It is better than one."

The Hatter glared at him. "Just for that," he said, "I'm tempted to let this tea-party continue, but that would punish me just as much as it would punish you, so I won't."

"What do you mean?" the Hare asked. "You sound as if you had a choice."

The Hatter grinned. He released Castiel's arm and put his hand on his shoulder instead. "I do," he said, "because this Angel here can bend Time to his will."

The Hare's eyes widened. "Really?" he said breathlessly, staring at Castiel.

"I can try," Castiel said. It was true that he would have liked to. Unfortunately, he did not know where to begin, so he simply stood there without knowing what to do.

The Hatter and the Hare stared at him for a long time, clearly expecting him to act. When it became apparent to them that he would not, they exchanged a confused look. Then the Hatter seemed to realize something. "Oh right," he said. He pulled something out of his pocket. "I guess you'll be needing this."

He gave the object to Castiel, who examined it. It was another pocket watch, like the one that he had seen the Rabbit wear. It was not working. Castiel turned it over in his hands and examined it, but he could find nothing wrong with it. "Have you wound it ?" he asked the Hatter.

The Hatter blinked. "Have I wounded it?" he asked. "Well, I suppose I have. I mean, Time did seem rather hurt."

"Not wounded. Wound it ," Castiel corrected. The Hatter and the Hare stared at him blankly. He assumed that that meant that they had not indeed done so. Examining the watch again, Castiel located the winding crown and turned it in a clockwise direction. The watch immediately began ticking.

"Is that...?" the Hare said. "Is it...?"

The Hatter took the watch from Castiel and stared at its face. "It's working," he said. "Time is moving again." He grinned wildly at Castiel. "Is that what an Angel does?" he asked. "Do you rule Time? Is that Lord you mentioned some kind of Time Lord? Or do you cure Time? Like a doctor? Is that why asked about wounding?"

Castiel shook his head. He was pleased that the Hatter seemed pleased, but he was somewhat bewildered at how simple the solution to the problem had been. "No," he said. "I'm a soldier."

"Oh." The Hatter thought this over for a few minutes. "Well," he said, shrugging. “I guess that makes sense. I mean, you did get Time marching again. “ He looked at the pocket-watch. "It's still six o'clock," he said. "I'm guessing it will be for a few more seconds. Do you want some tea?"

Castiel accepted the offer. He and the Hatter joined the Hare and the sleeping Dormouse. Castiel wondered why no one woke the Dormouse. He looked awfully uncomfortable, sleeping on a table like that. However, neither the Hatter, nor the Hare paid him any attention. Instead, they poured each other cups of tea and the Hatter poured one for Castiel. They also offered him the cookies that were left and some of the cake. While they ate, the Hatter and the Hare told Castiel a bit about Wonderland.

They told him about the Queen. Her greatest interests were apparently to play croquet - "If you ever play against her, let her win, or she'll have you beheaded" - and to order beheadings. This explained why the Hatter had been so worried that Castiel would lose his head if he met her.

"Although," the Hare said, "to be fair, I'm not sure anyone has ever actually been beheaded. She's always shouting at her soldiers to cut someone's head off, but they're so incompetent that they never get it done. Besides, as soon as she turns her back, the King always reverses her order. Good thing, too, or they'd be out of subjects, by now. And then what would they talk about?"

There was the Cheshire Cat, who had told the Hatter and the Hare about Castiel's arrival in Wonderland. Apparently, he liked to talk in riddles and often showed up around tea-time - "for the cake. You know what cats are like when there's cream." He had visited them quite often lately, since it had always been tea-time. The Cheshire Cat seemed to know everything that went on in Wonderland.

"It's probably because he can turn himself invisible, the lucky bastard," the Hatter said. "Makes it easy to spy and eavesdrop on everyone. I wonder if he’s ever watched the Queens bathe.”

“Probably,” the March Hare said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, he’s just as big a pervert as you, isn’t he?”

Then there was the Duchess, who was the lady in the fine clothes that Castiel had seen.

"She's the Queen's best friend," the Hare said.

"When the Queen isn't shouting to have her head cut off," the Hatter added.

“I don't know,” the Hare said. “I think she's still the Queen's best friend even then. I sometimes think that's how the Queen shows affection. And anger. And any other emotion. For someone who wears her hearts on her sleeves, she could really work on different ways to express her feelings.”

The White Rabbit had a house not far from the Hare's home. He was the court herald - “which is probably why he loves words so much,” the Hatter mused. When Castiel told the Hatter that the Rabbit had seemed drunk, the Hatter merely shrugged.

"He usually is," he said. He frowned. "Although it is possible that he was drunker than usual when he left here earlier. I don't think whiskey is what he usually drinks. He's more of a wine fellow. Always complaining about something."

"You mean he likes to whine?" Castiel asked.

"Yes," the Hatter said. He gave the Hare a contemplative look. “You know, you two are a lot alike,” he said. “I don't know why I haven't seen it before. You both like to whine and dine on the same type of food. I'm surprised you don't hang out more often.” A teasing glint appeared in his eye. “Is it because his ears are floppier than yours?”

The Hare merely glared at him. Castiel noticed, however, that his ears twitched irritably and as soon as the Hatter turned his back, the Hare gave one of them an experimental tug.

The Hatter and the Hare also told Castiel about many other people and creatures that lived in Wonderland, such as the Caterpillar, the Gryphon, the Mock Turtle and the Dodo.

"I think there's something going on between the Dodo and the Duck," the Hare said thoughtfully. "They say they're just friends, but friends don't stare at each other like that and invade each other's personal space as much as those two do."

The Hatter, who had been grinning at Castiel, started at that. He hurriedly moved one seat down the table, so that he was no longer sitting right next to Castiel. Castiel did not immediately understand why, but then he noticed that the Hatter had merely moved closer to one of the cakes. He had also turned his face away, so all that Castiel could see of him was part of his profile. He noticed that the Hatter's ear looked red and he wondered if maybe the Hatter's hat chafed.

They sat there talking for so long that by the time that they had finished their tea, it was no longer tea-time. In fact, it was already bedtime.

"I guess we'd better get going," the Hare said. "There's a new day tomorrow." He looked happy to be able to say that.

"We'd better wake the Dormouse," the Hatter said. "Can you imagine how upset he'll be? He always says that if he naps at tea-time, he can't sleep when it's bedtime."

The Hare's grin did not look very sympathetic. "He won't be getting any sleep tonight," he said. "I did warn him. I told him that he shouldn't disrupt his schedule and that he would regret it once Time started running again."

The Hatter gave the Dormouse a sharp nudge. "Oi," he said. "Wake up! You're leaving."

The Dormouse gave a loud snort and opened his eyes. "What are you idjits jabbering about?" he asked crankily.

"It's bedtime," the Hare said, "and we're leaving."

The Dormouse raised his head to scowl at the Hare. "Are you insane?" it asked. "How can it be bedtime when Time's standing still?"

"We found a way around that," the Hatter said cheerfully, "thanks to our new friend, the Angel. Look!"

He showed the Dormouse the watch. The Dormouse stared at it blearily for a moment, then his eyes widened and he looked suddenly wide-awake.

"Well, I'll be," he said. "It _is_ bedtime." Then he scowled again and his little nose twitched angrily. "And you two idjits didn’t wake me up. I'll never be able to get back to sleep now."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the Hare said in a sing-song voice. "Now let's go! Some of us have been awake for far too long."


	4. Murder Most Foul

Castiel did not usually need to sleep. However, whether it was because of the loss of his powers or of the world in which he found himself, that evening he felt sleepy. He gratefully accepted the Hatter's offer to sleep on his sofa. As they lay there in the darkness, Castiel listened to the Hatter's steady breathing and thought of Dean. It was not strange that his mind wandered in that direction, not while he was so near to someone who looked so much like Dean. Even when he had no such reminder, Castiel's mind had a habit of straying towards his friend. He often wondered what Dean was doing, as he did now, and wished that he could be with him. He also imagined trying to tell Dean of this experience. It would no doubt prove a daunting task to convince Dean that it had truly happened.

What the Hatter was thinking was not known to Castiel, until he suddenly spoke. Castiel was then surprised to discover that their thoughts had moved along similar paths.

"You called me Dean," the Hatter said.

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"Why?"

"I thought you were him."

Castiel heard the Hatter shift in his bed and he imagined that he could feel the weight of his stare on his face, although the darkness made it impossible to tell.

"Who is Dean?" the Hatter asked.

Castiel thought about this. There were many different answers to that question, but none of them seemed adequate. In the end, he settled for the one that felt most true. "He is my friend."

The Hatter was silent for a while. Then he asked, "Is he a good friend?"

Castiel's face softened into a smile. Before he had met Dean, he had never used to smile. He had had little reason to. "Yes," he said.

"Is he an Angel too?" The way the Hatter pronounced the word made it sound bizarre and unfamiliar.

"No, he is human."

The Hatter was silent again. "That doesn't tell me anything either," he said. "Why do you give each other such weird titles?"

"He is also a hunter," Castiel told him. "He hunts evil and protects his world."

The Hatter made a noise of approval. Apparently, Castiel had finally given him a word that he understood. "So he’s brave, the Hunter?"

"Very much so. He is brave and good and kind."

Another pause followed. The previous ones had been thoughtful, but this one felt more hesitant. "Do you like him?" the Hatter asked finally. His voice was soft and almost wistful.

"I do," Castiel replied sincerely.

"And I’m a lot like him?"

"You are," Castiel affirmed. He wondered what the reason was for all these questions. "You look exactly like him and I believe your personalities are similar, as well. However, Dean is less..."

"Mad?" the Hatter suggested.

"Exuberant," Castiel said. "He is more reserved. Maybe if his life had been different, Dean would have been more like you."

The Hatter made another soft noise, but this one was impossible to interpret. "So if you like Dean so very much," he said, "and I'm so very like him, does that mean that you like me too?" There was a teasing smugness to his tone, but Castiel thought that he could detect a note of sincerity underneath it, as if the Hatter truly wanted to know, but did not want Castiel to know that he did.

Because of that, Castiel took some time to think about it seriously. It seemed like a logical conclusion, but he did not feel certain that it was entirely accurate. After all, the Hatter was not Dean, but it was too soon for Castiel to be able to tell just how great the differences was. "I believe so,” he replied finally, “although I feel that I should get to know you better before I can be entirely certain. At the very least, there is a very good chance that I may come to like you."

The Hatter huffed out a soft laugh. "Good enough for me," he said. He did not say anything else for a long time and Castiel was beginning to think that he had fallen asleep, when he suddenly spoke again, so softly that Castiel almost did not hear him. "For the record," he said, "there's a good chance that I'll like you too."

*****

The next morning, Castiel woke to the sound of someone pounding on the door. It took him a while to remember where he was. It is often disorienting to wake up in a strange place, but it was even worse for Castiel, who was not used to sleeping and therefore not used to waking up anywhere. He could hear someone muttering from somewhere nearby. At first, he thought it was Dean, since it sounded like his voice, but then he remembered.

Castiel sat up on the sofa and looked over at the bed. The Hatter was sitting up too and looking over at him. He looked sleepy and disgruntled, as Dean often did on the mornings when he had not got enough sleep. "I should have known that Time wouldn't give in that easily," he said.

Castiel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He didn't need to hurry so," the Hatter said. "If he'd moved a bit slower, we could have got more sleep."

"I don't think that's Time's fault," Castiel said. "I think it's more due to whoever's at the door."

The Hatter looked surprised. He glanced over at the door as if he had just now realized that someone was knocking. Castiel did not understand how he could have missed it. Whoever it was was both loud and insistent.

Dragging himself out of bed, the Hatter went to open the door. He was only wearing a pair of tartan pajama pants, but on his way to the door, he took down one of the many hats that hung on hooks on the walls and put it on. The hat was even taller than the one of the previous day and it was striped in yellow and black. When he noticed Castiel's look, he shrugged.

"Marketing," he said. "Whoever's out there may be here to buy a hat, so I should show them what I've got." He narrowed his eyes. Then he took down three more hats, which he put on top of the first one. He grinned at Castiel. "This should give them a better idea," he said.

Unfortunately for the Hatter, his visitor was not there to buy hats. As soon as the door opened, the Hare barged in. He looked even crazier than the Hatter, despite the latter being dressed in his sleeping clothes and four hats. The Hare's eyes were wide and wild, he was tugging on his ears incessantly and his nose kept twitching in odd directions.

"Took you long enough," he complained. "I'm beginning to understand why Time was so upset with you. You really do abuse him."

The Hatter scowled at him. "No, I don’t," he protested.

"Yes, you do," the Hare said. "But that’s not why I'm here. The Dormouse is in trouble."

"Trouble?" the Hatter asked, his angry scowl softening into something more concerned. "What sort of trouble?"

The Hare walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Castiel. "The Queen's soldiers came this morning while we were having breakfast and arrested him. They said he killed the Cheshire Cat."

The Hatter blinked. "The Cheshire Cat is dead?" he asked.

Now it was the Hare's turn to scowl. "Obviously," he said, "or it'd be attempted murder, wouldn't it? Apparently, the Cook found him this morning. Nothing left but a paw, an ear and his tail, they said."

"Why do they think that the Dormouse did it?" Castiel asked.

The Hare turned to him, looking surprised. It looked as if he had not realized that Castiel was there, even though he was sitting right next to him. Castiel was beginning to think that the inhabitants of Wonderland were not very perceptive.

"He always argued with the Cheshire Cat," the Hare said, "and then there's the whole thing with cats and mice."

"The thing with cats and mice?" Castiel asked.

"Yes, they eat each other."

Castiel frowned. "No, they don't. Cats eat mice. Mice don't eat cats and neither do dormice."

The Hare looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "We know," he said slowly. "We're not utterly crazy."

"Yes, we are," the Hatter interjected.

"True, we are," the Hare agreed, "but we know that mice don't eat cats. No more than bones eat dogs or grass eats sheep. But just because they don't, it doesn't mean that they won't. It's eat or be eaten, and my guess is that most creatures would rather eat. Not that I've ever been eaten myself, but it seems kind of unpleasant. Maybe the Dormouse thought so too."

Castiel thought that that explanation sounded very far-fetched, but he did not say anything. Instead it was the Hatter that spoke. "Did he do it?" he asked.

The Hare glared at him. "Of course not," he said.

The Hatter shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by the Hare's glare. "How do you know?" he asked. "It is true, after all, that he really didn't like the Cat."

"Because he told me," the Hare replied, "and I believe him."

The Hatter shrugged again. "Fine," he said. It seemed to be all the proof that he required. "So what do we do now?"

"We need to prove the Dormouse's innocence," the Hare said. "I think I should go to the court and make sure that the Queen doesn’t have him decapitated before we can get him released."

"How are you going to do that?" Castiel asked. He knew that Sam, with whom the Hare shared as many characteristics as the Hatter did with Dean, had once hoped to make the law his profession and had even begun his studies with that intent. He wondered now if the Hare had, or had had, similar ambitions.

"Oh, it shouldn't be too difficult," the Hare said dismissively. "The King is the judge. He should be easy enough to distract. I just have to use big words and befuddling arguments to annoy him."

"Humongous," the Hatter said. The Hare and Castiel both looked at him, confused. "It's a big word," the Hatter explained, looking very pleased with himself. “Both in size and meaning.”

The Hare rolled his eyes. It looked rather funny. "Yes," he said. "Thank you!"

"And ask him about the raven and the writing desk," the Hatter added. "I still haven't got an answer to that riddle."

"Why should I ask him that?" the Hare asked. "It has nothing to do with the case."

"No," the Hatter agreed, "but it will lead you into a befuddling argument."

"Oh," the Hare said. "Yes, I guess it will."

"What should we do?" Castiel asked. Even though these were not his real friends, they were so much like them that the thought never crossed his mind not to help them.

"We, dear Angel," said the Hatter, "are going to solve the mystery. The best way to prove the Dormouse's innocence is to find the true culprit." He frowned briefly and looked down at himself. "But first, I should probably get dressed.”


	5. The Creepy Caterpillar

When they left the Hatter's house, the Hatter was dressed more like Dean than he had been the previous day. Granted, he wore a leather coat instead of a jacket, his flannel shirt had brighter colors than anything Dean would ever willingly put on. He was also wearing a checkered deerstalker in the same bright colors as his shirt, but he could still easily have passed for Dean's doppelganger. He looked both ridiculous and handsome.

The Hatter had also persuaded Castiel to wear one of his hats. It was a gray fedora hat with a navy blue ribbon. Castiel had been hesitant at first, as he saw no practical use for it, but he had always found it difficult to say no to Dean. Apparently, it was no different with the Hatter and it had only taken a little persuading to make Castiel put on the hat. Castiel had quickly discovered that it was worth it, just to see the Hatter's bright grin and to have his eyes linger just a while longer every time he turned to Castiel.

They were now on their way to interrogate the Hatter's first suspect. Incidentally, it was also the Hatter's only suspect.

“I know he's up to something,” he said. “He just has that creepy, crawly feel, you know. Gives me the shivers, man!”

The Hatter led Castiel to a meadow. It was very strange for Castiel to walk across this meadow. Unlike everything else that he had seen in Wonderland, it seemed to be a more natural size, at least compared to what Castiel was used to. Since Castiel was still so very small, everything else looked so very big. The grass reached his chest, many of the flowers were even taller and there were mushrooms that towered over his head.

The Hatter stopped in front of one of the mushrooms. It was not one of the biggest, but it was one of the most bizarre. The stem was a bright red, the gills were purple and the cap was an almost luminescent blue. However, there were many strange plants and mushrooms in the meadow and Castiel wondered what had made the Hatter stop at this one. Then he noticed that the Hatter was looking over the edge of the mushroom. Because Castiel was shorter than the Hatter, he had to rise onto his toes to see what the Hatter was looking at.

A large caterpillar was sitting on the mushroom. He was bright green with large dark eyes. He sat with his arms folded, smoking a large hookah. Castiel had no doubt that he had noticed their arrival, but he took no notice of them. Castiel and the Hatter stood for a long while staring at the Caterpillar, who proceeded to smoke calmly and quietly. The Hatter glanced over at Castiel and shrugged. Just then the Caterpillar took the hookah out of his mouth and spoke.

“Did you want something?” he asked in a drawling British accent. “Or were you just planning to stand there all day and look stupid?”

Castiel thought that it was very disconcerting to hear Crowley's voice come out of the mouth of a caterpillar. He tried to imagine what it would be like once the Caterpillar turned into a butterfly, but he did not like to think of something so beautiful being so tainted, so he quickly gave that up. Instead he looked over at the Hatter again.

“Where were you last night?” the Hatter asked.

The Caterpillar gave him a supremely bored look and puffed on his hookah. “And why should I tell you that?” he asked.

“Because if you don't, we'll go to the King of Hearts and tell him that you have no alibi,” the Hatter replied.

One of the Caterpillar's eyebrows rose. “Alibi for what?” he asked.

“What do you think?” the Hatter said. “The murder of the Cheshire Cat, of course.”

The Caterpillar blinked. “The Cat is dead?”

The Hatter huffed. “Obviously,” he said, “or it'd be attempted murder, wouldn't it?”

“I wouldn't know,” the Caterpillar said. “I try not to get involved in such things. Dreadfully nasty business, murder is!”

The Hatter folded his arms, so his position matched that of the Caterpillar. However, unlike the Caterpillar, he looked more aggressive and less bored. “And you would know all about nasty business, wouldn't you?” he asked. “I'm betting the Cat had all sorts of dirt on you. There are rumors, you know.”

“Are there really?” the Caterpillar asked. He did not sound very curious.

“There are,” the Hatter confirmed. “I hear you gave Bill the Lizard a mushroom that made him think he saw the Duchess's child turn into a pig.”

“The child did turn into a pig,” the Caterpillar pointed out. “It trotted past here just the other day, grunting and snuffling. You could really see the family resemblance.”

“Yes, yes,” the Hatter said, “I know. But that's not the point. The point is that Bill was too far away to actually see it happen. And what about the Seven of Clubs?”

“What about him?”

“He was playing a game against the Eight of Spades and when he realized that he was losing, he folded. Now he’s getting yelled at during every inspection, since he can’t get the crease out of his uniform.”

“Yes,” the Caterpillar mused, “I hear it’s a real bugger trying to get the wrinkles out of cardboard.”

“Then there’s the matter with the Duchess's footman,” the Hatter said.

“Which one's hers?” the Caterpillar asked. “The Fish or the Frog?”

“The Frog,” the Hatter replied. “The Fish works for the Queen. The Frog took one bite of your mushroom and handed in his resignation. Now he lives on the leaf of a water-lily in the small pond behind the Duchess's house.”

“And I'm sure he was never happier,” the Caterpillar said.

“Not the point,” the Hatter said, annoyed. “The point is that there is something fishy about your mushrooms.”

“No,” the Caterpillar said. “There's something fishy about the Queen's footman. It's mainly his smell. If my mushrooms smelled like that, I would never be able to sell any.”

The Hatter looked triumphant. “So you do admit to selling them?”

The Caterpillar looked bewildered. “When did I ever deny it?” it asked. “It wouldn't be very good for business, would it, if no one knew. Do you deny that you sell hats?”

“No,” the Hatter said. “But my hats don't make people go insane.”

“That's arguable,” the Caterpillar replied. “Although,” he conceded, “it is more likely that the insanity came before the purchase. Otherwise, I find it difficult to explain how you ever make a sale.” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Maybe we should go into business together,” he said. “I'm sure my mushrooms would do wonders for your sales.”

Castiel expected the Hatter to take offense at this, but to his surprise, the Hatter actually seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment. Fortunately, however, it was only for a moment. “I don’t think so,” the Hatter said. “Bugs bug me. You creepy-crawlies give me the creepy-crawlies.”

The Caterpillar rolled his eyes. “How very narrow-minded of you, Hatter,” he said. “But very well, have it your way! But to revert to our original topic, I must say that I'm rather surprised at you. I wouldn't have thought that you of all people would object to some more insanity in the world. Or are you scared that others may encroach on your territory? If so, you needn't worry. You're still the maddest of them all.”

The Hatter glared at him for a moment, before dismissing it with a shrug and a grimace. “I don't exactly object,” he admitted. “There's nothing wrong with some good, old-fashioned insanity, even the boring kind that you're spreading. I just don't think that the King would agree. You know how he is. He hasn't embraced his madness the way the rest of us have. So I'm going to ask you, once and for all, do you admit that your mushrooms make people act strange?”

“-er,” the Caterpillar said.

“What?”

“Strang-er,” the Caterpillar clarified. “We're in Wonderland. Everything here is already strange, so you can't make them strange, only stranger. Or less strange. Bill the Lizard, one of the most unobservant creatures that I ever met, actually observed something that was really happening. Who cares if he was too far away to actually see it, if he even was? It was too far for you, but Bill’s a lizard and lizards are known for their sharp vision. Maybe he really did see it. The Seven of Clubs folded, because that’s what happens to losing cards. They’re folded. As for the Footman, he’s a frog. Now he acts like a frog. Have you considered that maybe my mushrooms simply restore the natural order?”

“The natural order?” the Hatter almost shouted. “We're in Wonderland. How can it be Wonderland if you take all the wonders away?”

The Caterpillar considered this for a moment. Then he said, “Impressive. You actually made a valid point. So Luck is still around, after all. I thought she'd left a long time ago.”

The Hatter took a deep breath. He seemed to be trying to compose himself. “Did you or did you not kill the Cheshire Cat?” he asked.

“I did not,” the Caterpillar said. “As you have clearly demonstrated, my dirty secret is not so secret at all. So why would I kill the Cheshire Cat? Besides, he was one of my best customers. He always wanted something to nibble at. I'm going to be taking a real loss in profits.”

The Hatter stared at him for a moment, looking disbelieving. Then he suddenly visibly deflated. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Do you know who did it?”

The Caterpillar inhaled deeply from the hookah as he thought about the question. “Not for certain,” he admitted. “However, you may want to talk to the Duchess. I know she has some secrets that she would like to keep. Ask her about her friendship with the Queen of Hearts.”

“Right,” the Hatter said. “The Duchess. We'll do that.” He took a step back from the mushroom. “So we're going now.”

The Caterpillar raised both his eyebrows at him. “Good for you,” he said. Then he went back to puffing on his hookah and staring out at nothing.


	6. The Dallying Duchess

The Duchess lived in a house not far from the Caterpillar's mushroom. If Castiel had been the usual size of his human vessel, he would have thought that it was a very small house. In fact, it would have looked rather like a dollhouse, but with walls on all sides. However, as Castiel was not much bigger than a doll at the moment, he thought that it was a rather large and beautiful house.

Because they approached the house from the back, they had to walk through the garden to get to it. This garden was much smaller than the Queen's garden and less beautiful. Castiel thought that it could have been rather lovely, but it had obviously not been very well cared for. The hedges were uneven, the path was overgrown and the flowers had been left to grow wild.

“It used to be more beautiful,” the Hatter said, when he caught Castiel looking around. “At least as beautiful as the Queen’s garden. The Queen didn't like that, so she ordered the Duchess's head to be cut off. Obviously, her soldiers never got around to it, but after that, the Duchess tried to fire her gardener. Fortunately for him, it was a very damp day, so she couldn't do it.”

Castiel tilted his head and frowned. “Why couldn't she fire him on a damp day?”

“Have you ever tried setting fire to sodden paper? It takes skill and practice. The Duchess had neither. So the gardener was just forced to leave and got a job for the Queen. Now all he has to worry about is keeping his head on his shoulders, which he should manage, as long as he just remembers to keep it down at the same time.”

They were just passing a small pond that was almost covered with water-lily leaves. On one of the leaves, there sat a frog. There was also a big willow growing by the pond, with branches reaching out over the water. It would all have looked quite picturesque, if the Frog had not been dressed in the livery of a footman. He was sitting on the edge of the leaf, with his trousers rolled up and his feet in the water, looking as happy as could be. There was something furry lying by his side. At first, Castiel thought it was a small animal, but then he realized that it was a powdered wig.

“Hullo,” the Frog said, when he saw them. He had to lower his head to do so, since his eyes were almost on top. “Are you here to see the Duchess?”

“Yes,” the Hatter said. “We're here to question her about a murder.”

“Ah yes,” the Frog said. “The Cheshire Cat. I heard about that. Nasty business. I liked him. He had a great sense of humor. Used to scare the bejesus out of the Duchess. Once he made himself invisible, but left his head visible, and then he made me serve him to the Duchess on a platter. I never heard anyone scream so loud.”

“Yeah, he was hilarious, all right,” the Hatter said sourly. His tone made Castiel suspect that the Duchess was not the only victim of the Cheshire Cat's jokes.

The Frog paid him no attention. “So what do you want to ask the Duchess?” he asked.

The Hatter narrowed his eyes. It was clear that he was trying to decide whether or not he ought to answer. “We want to ask her about her friendship with the Queen,” he finally said.

“Oh?” the Frog said. “What about her friendship with the Queen?”

“We don't know, do we?” the Hatter replied. “That's why we need to ask.”

The Frog hummed. “My friend, the Queen's footman, always said there was something fishy about it,” he said, “and he ought to know.”

“Yes,” the Hatter said. “Well. We really should be going.”

“You do that,” the Frog said. He raised his head and stared up at the sky.

Castiel followed the Hatter to the door of the house. The Hatter knocked.

“It's no use,” the Frog called out. “I don't think I'll answer it.”

The Hatter scowled. “So how do we get in?” he asked.

The Frog shrugged. “Turn the doorknob?” he suggested.

The Hatter did as he was told. The door swung open and Castiel found himself staring into a dark hallway. “Huh,” the Hatter said. “The obvious solution. That's hardly ever the right one.” He gestured at the hallway. “After you.”

They found the Duchess in the sitting room at the end of the hallway. She was sitting on the sofa and reading a book. When she saw them, she closed the book and raised her eyebrows questioningly at them.

“Funny,” she said. “I don't seem to remember inviting you.”

“Don't worry,” the Hatter said. “Neither do I, so unless we're both losing our memories, I think you're okay.”

The Duchess rolled her eyes and stood up. “Not exactly what I was concerned about,” she said, coming closer, “but never mind. Who's your friend, Hatter?” She eyed Castiel with great interest, walking around him to examine him from all angles.

The Hatter's face darkened and he stepped between them. “He's an Angel,” he said, “and he's with me.” His voice sounded tense.

The Duchess ignored him. She was leering at Castiel now and running a hand up his arm. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Castiel took a step closer to the Hatter. For some reason, this seemed to make the Hatter relax, while the Duchess grinned. “So I see,” she said. “Pity.”

The Hatter was still glaring at her. “You don't seem very upset,” he said.

The Duchess looked surprised. “He's cute,” she said, “and I’m disappointed, but I'm sure I'll get over it.”

The Hatter narrowed his eyes. “I meant over the fact that your cat is dead,” he said.

“Ah yes,” the Duchess said, “that. I always told him that he would come to a violent end. He was much too curious for his own good and you know about curiosity and cats, of course.”

“Yes,” the Hatter said, “but in this case, I think curiosity had an accomplice.”

The Duchess narrowed her eyes at him. “And who would that be?”

The Hatter began pacing around the room, tapping his finger against his chin. “Someone with secrets, I think. Secrets that they did not want anybody else to know. Secrets that the Cat knew.” He spun around and fixed the Duchess with a penetrating stare. “Tell us about your friendship with the Queen!”

The Duchess stared back. Then she crossed her arms. “What about our friendship?” she asked.

The Hatter crossed his arms. “I think you know,” he said.

The Duchess glared at him. The Hatter glared back. The Duchess raised an eyebrow. The Hatter raised one of his. The Duchess sat down on the sofa. The Hatter sat down in an armchair. The Duchess sniffed. The Hatter raised his other eyebrow. The Duchess eyed him suspiciously. The Hatter smiled grimly.

“Fine,” the Duchess said. “You obviously already know. But can you blame her? Do you really think that the King has ever been able to show her the appreciation that she deserves?”

“She married him,” the Hatter said.

“He tricked her,” the Duchess said. “She thought she would be a widow by now. After all, he is known as the Suicide King. But he has always been bad at cutting off heads, even his own.”

“And so the Queen turned to you.”

“Out of desperation. Why should she waste her gifts on someone like him? He has no taste. Everyone knows it.”

“But you do?” the Hatter asked.

“The best,” the Duchess bragged, “and I do love tarts.”

The Hatter gave her a strange look. “The Queen's a tart?” he asked.

The Duchess rolled her eyes. “Don't be stupid!” she said. She gave a crooked grin and added: “If you can help it. The Queen sells the tarts.”

“Oh,” the Hatter said. He was staring at the Duchess, obviously taken aback by this news. “So she’s running some sort of escort service?”

The Duchess gave him an affronted look. “Of course not,” she said. “She doesn’t deliver the tarts; she has servants for that.”

“Servants deliver the tarts?” the Hatter asked.“What, they can’t walk on their own?”

The Duchess blinked. Castiel got the feeling that once again there were two different conversations going on. At least this time, he was involved in neither. Unfortunately, that did not make it any easier for him to follow either of them.

“Have you been buying mushrooms from the Caterpillar?” the Duchess asked. “Walking tarts? Tarts don’t walk. They have to be carried and served, before you can eat them.”

The Hatter’s eyes were very wide. “You eat the tarts?” he said.

The Duchess was looking increasingly bewildered. Castiel could relate. “Of course,” the Duchess said. “What else would I do with them?”

The Hatter’s eyes roamed over the Duchess’ body, then he made a face of agreement. “I see your point,” he said. “Although you could always use your fingers.”

“My fingers?” the Duchess exclaimed, sounding appalled. “What am I? Some sort of uncivilized brute? I’ll have you know that in my circles, we always use cutlery when we eat.”

For a moment, the Hatter looked sincerely shocked, then his eyes widened even further and his jaw dropped. His cheeks turned pink and he scratched his nose uncomfortably. “Of course,” he said. “Right. Okay. So you eat the tarts. Which are actual tarts. Which the Queen sells. So why is this bad?”

The Duchess was looking searchingly at the Hatter, clearly trying to make sense of the conversation they had just been having. When he asked his question, she shook her head and seemed to give up the effort. “Because,” she said, “when they married, the Queen promised that the King would have all her tarts. He actually made it a capital offense for everyone else to eat the Queen’s tarts. If he were to find out that she’s been selling them to the highest bidder...”

“... the highest bidder might find their outlook on life brought down by about a head,” the Hatter finished. “Yes, I see. Did the Cat know about this?”

“Of course,” the Duchess said. “He always shared the tarts with me. Unlike the King, the Cat knew how to appreciate something sweet.”

“I see,” the Hatter said. “So did you kill him to keep him quiet or to have the tarts all to yourself?”

The Duchess snorted. “Don't be stupid!” she said. “I could never eat them all on my own. Not unless I want to look like a pig.”

“Yes,” the Hatter murmured, “I hear that's something of a problem in your family.” He gave her a sharp look. “So it was to keep him quiet, then?”

The Duchess shook her head, looking condescending. “The Cat couldn’t tell on me,” she said. “Not without giving himself away, as well. So you see, I had no reason to kill the Cat.” She leaned back in the sofa and sighed. “Talk to the Knave of Hearts instead,” she said. “I hear he’s been getting around quite a lot, lately.”

The Hatter rose from his seat. “We'll do that,” he said. “Thank you.”

The Duchess waved a lazy hand at him. She had closed her eyes. “Yes, yes,” she said. “Go away! And take your pretty friend with you. You've given me a craving for a tart.”


	7. The Naughty Knave

Castiel and the Hatter left the Duchess' house through the main entrance. They walked across the courtyard and into the forest that surrounded the house. Castiel did not think he would ever get used to the Wonderland forests, with their tall trees – tall in relation to Castiel's current height – and odd, bright flowers. The Hatter was mostly silent as they walked. He seemed lost in thought. With his face dark and serious, he did not look mad at all. Instead, he looked very much as Dean did whenever there was a problem that he could not solve.

As they walked through the darker part of the forest, Castiel felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of his neck. It was the same sensation he got whenever he was being watched. He turned around and tried to peer into the shadows, but he could not see anyone. Everything was still and quiet. Still, the prickling sensation did not go away. Curious and somewhat unsettled, Castiel stopped and listened intently to see if he could detect another creature's presence that way.

At first, the Hatter did not notice that Castiel had stopped. He kept walking along the path, now muttering to himself about “tarts” and “hearts”, and “the Queen” and “what does it mean”. When he finally noticed that Castiel was no longer beside him, he spun around quickly. He seemed almost relieved to discover that he had not gone too far.

“What is it?” he asked.

Castiel frowned. “I'm not sure,” he said. “I feel as though we are being watched, but I can see no one.”

The Hatter followed his gaze out into the shadows, but he did not seem very concerned. “I wouldn't worry too much about it,” he said. “There are all manners of creatures living in this forest. Many of them have eyes. Just stay on the path and we should be fine.”

Castiel nodded, but could not get rid of the uneasy feeling. He thought he recognized the weight of this particular stare and he felt sure that it ought to remind him of something. However, as he still could not see anything, he had no choice but to let it be and to follow the Hatter further along the path.

In order to take his mind off the mystery of their silent watcher, he attempted to begin a conversation with the Hatter. The first topic to cross his mind was obviously the case that they were trying to solve. “Do you think that the Knave is a likely suspect?” he asked.

“Hm?” the Hatter said, apparently startled out of his own deep thoughts. “Oh, the Knave. I don't know. It's possible, I guess. There isn't much I would put past him. He likes to sample the pleasures of life, if you know what I mean.” Castiel frowned. He did not know what the Hatter meant. Fortunately, the Hatter seemed to read his confusion, because he went on to explain, “For example, the Knave is sort of like the Duchess; they both like tarts. The difference is that they like different types of tart.” He gave Castiel a meaningful glance, but Castiel was still confused.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Different flavors?”

The Hatter let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah,” he said. “You could say that. Way different.” He looked over at Castiel and seemed to take pity on him, when he saw that Castiel still did not understand. “Women, man. The Knave likes women a lot. And men. And gambling and drinking and anything else that's generally frowned upon by so called polite society. Although most of the people he does it with, and especially the ones he does _it_ with, are members of that polite society, so I’m not sure how polite they really are.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. He understood now. “So what you're saying is that the Knave of Hearts...”

“... is a real knave, yeah,” the Hatter said.

“So when the Duchess says that he's been getting around, I assume she wasn't referring to him going to different locations.”

“Oh, I'm sure he's been in different locations, all right,” the Hatter said. “And different positions. But mostly, different people, which was probably what the Duchess meant, yes. I'm guessing he's been spreading himself a bit thin – well, thinner – and that he'd like to keep that from the people involved. So if the Cat knew about it and threatened to tell, that gives him motive.”

Castiel nodded. It all made perfect sense. “I think the Knave seems like a likely suspect,” he said, “since he is already so given to vice. I feel certain that he is our killer.

“Maybe,” the Hatter said. “Just 'cause someone likes to enjoy themselves, it doesn't make them a killer. Besides, I kind of like the Knave, when he’s not being a douche. I'm actually hoping he isn’t the killer. We'll see what he has to say.”

As they had been talking, they had reached the edge of the forest. Castiel was surprised to see that they were standing just outside the Queen's garden. He was even more surprised when the Hatter began walking down one of the paths. “Aren't we avoiding the Queen anymore?” he asked.

The Hatter looked at him, seemingly confused. Castiel gestured at the garden and the Hatter immediately understood what he meant. “We are,” he said, “but the Queen won't be here. She'll be at court with the King.”

“And won't the Knave be there, as well?”

The Hatter scratched his chin. “I doubt it,” he said. “As far as I know, the only way you'll see him in court is in chains. I guess he's hoping that out sight means out of mind. It mostly seems to work, probably because half the court is out their minds anyway, so they're not likely to notice that something’s missing in there.”

Castiel followed the Hatter along the paths. The Hatter seemed to know where he was going, determinedly crossing some of the paths and turning to follow others. It did not take long for Castiel to realize that he had been wrong during his first visit here. The paths did not form a square grid, as he had guessed. Instead, they seemed to form some elaborate sort of maze. It was also bigger than he had realized and it would be very easy to get lost in it.

“Where, exactly, are we going?” he asked the Hatter.

The Hatter shrugged, unconcerned. “I don't know _exactly_ ,” he said, “but I think we should turn left here. It feels like it’s right.”

They made two more left turns, then a right turn, crossed two paths and then turned left again. There they found themselves standing in a large, open area. A number of people were there. They were playing a strange game that seemed to involve flamingos, hedgehogs and doubled-up card soldiers. Castiel tried to make out the purpose of the game, but it was difficult. The flamingos kept flapping their wings and bending their necks this way and that; the hedgehogs were crawling all over the place and the card soldiers were running around, apparently chasing them. It was not made easier by the fact that none of the players seemed to quite understand the purpose of the game either. They were mostly running around, stumbling over each other's hedgehogs and struggling with their flamingos. It was very amusing to watch, but Castiel wondered if it was as amusing to play.

Castiel was so caught up in watching the game that it took him a long while to realize that the Hatter had left his side. Looking around, he saw that the Hatter had found the Knave. They were standing near one of the hedges, far enough away from the players not to be overheard. Castiel walked over to join them. The moment the Knave noticed him, he stopped talking mid-sentence and turned to greet Castiel instead,

“Hello,” he said cheerfully. “You're new. I don't believe I've had the pleasure.” He held out his hand for Castiel to shake, which Castiel did. The Knave did not immediately let go of his hand, however, the way that most people did. Instead, he put his other hand over Castiel's as he leered at him. Castiel had never seen Balthazar leer at him before. It made him feel very uncomfortable, and that feeling was only intensified when he felt the Knave's finger stroke the inside of his wrist.

Just as with the Duchess, the Knave's attentions to Castiel seemed to irritate the Hatter, because he took a step forward to stand between them, forcing the Knave to release Castiel's hand. “Okay,” he said, “that's enough of that. The Angel is with me, so you can just forget about what you were just thinking.”

The Knave's eyebrows rose and his smirk only widened. At least he looked amused now, rather than whatever he had been before. It was an expression that Castiel was much more familiar with and his discomfort eased. “My dear Hatter,” the Knave said. “There's no need to be jealous. I would never be so rude as to exclude you. The more, the merrier, as they say.”

“Yes,” the Hatter said. “I hear that's your philosophy. I think we'll pass, though.”

The Knave blinked. He took a step back, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Very well,” he said. “It was merely a suggestion.” He hesitated for a moment, biting his lip, before adding, “Although, if I may make another one, I wouldn't even have to be involved. I'd be happy to just... watch?”

The Hatter looked almost scandalized. “Dude,” he said loudly. “No! Just no! I'm not going to... No!” He threw a glance at Castiel and hurried to add, “It isn't even like that.”

The Knave was chuckling now. “Of course it isn't it,” he said with false sincerity, “and more's the pity, eh, Hatter?”

“Look,” the Hatter said, clearly wanting to change the subject, “we're not here to talk about us. We're here to talk about you.”

This seemed to please the Knave.“Ah!” he said, rubbing his hands together. “My favorite subject. What exactly was it that you wanted to talk about?”

The Hatter narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.“I think you know already.”

The Knave frowned for a moment, then he sighed. “Oh,” he said, “that. How disappointing! And here we were off to such a promising start, too.”

The Hatter said nothing. Silence might have seemed like a strange interrogation technique, but Castiel felt confident that in this case, it was the right choice. Speaking would only prove how little they actually knew. By remaining the silent, the Hatter was allowing the Knave to fill in their part of the conversation, which he seemed perfectly willing to do.

Castiel found it rather astonishing, how readily the inhabitants of Wonderland made assumptions about what others knew. He guessed that there was not much crime in Wonderland or if there was, that the criminals were quickly caught, since everyone in Wonderland seemed so eager to reveal their deepest secrets. It certainly made his and the Hatter's task easier.

“Look,” the Knave said. “Just tell the Gryphon that he'll have his treasure soon. Greedy bastard! It's not like he'll do anything with it. He just likes to hoard it. I just need a little more time to gather the last of it together.”

“His treasure?” the Hatter asked. His tone made it clear that this was not what he had been expecting.

The Knave narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes,” he said. “The diamonds. You are here to collect the gambling debt, aren't you?”

“No,” the Hatter said. “No, we're not.”

“Oh.” The Knave rubbed the back of his neck. “I see. How awkward!” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Never mind, then!”

The Hatter was not prepared to let this information go, however. “What gambling debt?”

“It's nothing you need to worry your pretty little heads with,” the Knave said dismissively. “So what was it really that you wanted to talk about?”

“No,” the Hatter said. “No, I really do think we need to worry our pretty little heads with it. In fact, worrying about it may be what our heads are for, other than looking pretty, of course. So, what gambling debt?”

The Knave heaved a deep sighed, looking very put-upon. “Fine,” he said, pronouncing the word sharply, “if you must know. Not too long ago, we had an outing. An excursion sort of outing, not like what's happening with you and your friend. Almost everybody was there: the kings and the queens, the knaves, the Duchess and the Gryphon, the White Rabbit, the Duck and the Dodo – and who they think they're fooling, I honestly have no idea...”

“The Duck and the Dodo?” the Hatter asked.

“Yes,” the Knave replied. “You do know what they say?”

“What do they say?”

“If it walks like a duck, looks like a duck, quacks like a duck...”

“Yes?” the Hatter prompted.

“... then the Dodo is doing it. The Duck, that is, not the quacking. Unless, of course, they're into role-play.”

The Hatter's face was screwed up in something that looked like pain. “Ew, gross!” he exclaimed. “Dude, mental images!”

The Knave rolled his eyes at him. “Oh, please. Don't be such a prude!” Castiel blinked at this. Of all the things that Dean had been called, he did not think that prude had ever been one of them. “Anyway,” the Knave continued, “back to the outing. The excursion outing, not the Duck and Dodo outing. As I was saying, we were all there, and so was the Lory, and you know what he's like. He talked the others into something he called a Caucus Race.”

“A Caucus Race?”

“Yes. Don't ask,” he added, when the Hatter opened his mouth to do just that, “because I've no bloody clue. I wasn't involved. I was talking to the Gryphon and we both agreed that there can only be one purpose for a race.”

“Which is?”

“Why, my dear Hatter,” the Knave said, “to bet on it, of course! Which we did. And I lost. I'm still not quite clear on how that happened, since I don't think a winner of the race was ever declared. How can one lose when no one wins? Still, there you are. And here I am, up to my ears in debt. Not literally, of course; that would be highly impractical. Not that my current situation is very practical, but you know what I mean. I'm working on clearing the debt, of course. That's actually why I'm here. I've got a nice bet going with the Ten of Diamonds. Diamonds are treasure, you know, and he's practically covered in them. It's looking good, too. He bet on the Queen of Hearts, you see, since she's usually such a sure winner. I mean, when she's around, everyone's so worried about losing their heads that they completely lose their heads. Might as well use them as croquet balls, for all the use they have of them. They'd probably work better than the hedgehogs, too, and less painful to get hit by. Have you ever got a face full of rolled up hedgehog?” He gave the Hatter a considering look. “Maybe you have. That would explain all those dots on your face. Anyway, the Ten of Diamonds bet on the Queen of Hearts and I bet on everyone else. And now that the Queen is away at court, it does look like everyone else has a chance to win, so I may actually be able to pay off my debt to the Gryphon.”

“Right,” the Hatter said. “Good for you.”

There was a long silence, during which the Hatter kept rubbing his nose. It looked like he was trying to rub his freckles off. Castiel hoped that he would not be successful. Normally, he would not have felt any concern that it might happen, but this was Wonderland. Normal did not apply here. Castiel rather liked Dean's freckles, and the Hatter's, too, for that matter. Several times, he had even tried to count them, but every time he had come up with a different number. He was not sure if it was because Dean's freckles were playing some odd game of hide-and-seek with him, or if it was because he kept being distracted by other things, such as Dean's eyes, his mouth and his... well, his everything. Dean was a very distracting person. Fortunately for Castiel, the Hatter's freckles remained firmly in place.

“So,” said the Knave eventually, “if you're not here about the gambling, why are you here?”

The Hatter stopped rubbing his nose and put his hands in his pockets instead. “We're here about your affairs,” he said, “but not the financial ones.”

The Knave's eyebrows rose in surprise. “I see. What about them?”

“Well,” the Hatter said, “as you said, the more, the merrier. I'm just wondering how many there are, exactly.”

The Knave's eyebrows rose even higher. They looked like they were trying to hide in his hair. “That's a bit of an impertinent question, isn't it?”

“Since when do you mind impertinence?” the Hatter asked.

“I don't,” the Knave replied. “I was merely making a reflection. Now, I can't give you the exact numbers. They tend to vary, depending on the time of the day and your definition of an affair. Let's just say that they involve all the queens, most of the kings, a couple of the knaves and a few others.”

The Hatter gave a low whistle. He actually looked impressed. “All the queens?” he asked. “Even the Queen of Hearts?”

“Of course,” the Knave said. “She was my first and she's likely to be my last. She's insatiable, that one, and absolutely uninhibited. The stories I could tell you.”

“Huh,” the Hatter said. He gave the Knave a curious look. “What stories?” Castiel felt that this would be a good time to clear his throat, which he did. The Hatter started slightly, then cleared his own throat. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper and more matter-of-fact. “So what you're saying is that the Queen of Hearts is, in fact, something of a tart?”

The Knave snorted. “The queen of them,” he said. “She makes the others look positively virtuous.”

“Huh,” the Hatter said again. “What do you know?” He seemed distracted again and had got a distant, dreamy sort of look in his eyes. Castiel, feeling rather annoyed at the Hatter's tendency to forget the real purpose of the interrogation, elbowed him in his side. This brought the Hatter back from whatever thoughts he had lost himself in. “With that many affairs to keep in order,” he said, “I'm guessing you have a pretty hectic schedule.”

“You're not wrong,” the Knave said. “The men are easy enough to please; they're usually quite keen. All you have to do is name a time and a place and they'll be there. The women, though.” He shook his head. “They want bloody wooing with flowers and such. It's a nightmare, it is.”

The Hatter was nodding along sympathetically, but Castiel was looking at the Knave with narrowed eyes. What he had said had stirred some recollection in Castiel. “Flowers?” he asked.

Both the Hatter and the Knave turned to stare at him. “Yeah,” the Knave said. “Flowers. Women like flowers.”

“What type of flowers?” Castiel asked.

The Knave blinked. “Uh,” he said, thinking about it. “Usually roses, I suppose. Unless it's the Queen of Hearts, of course, since it's her roses, so there wouldn't be much point in giving them to her, would there?”

“I see,” Castiel said. That solved one mystery, at least. Now he knew what had happened to the asymmetrical rose bushes. The Hatter was looking at him questioningly, but Castiel merely shook his head at him. It did not seem very important. He doubted that the Knave had killed the Cat over some roses. He could not help but feel disappointed at this answer to the mystery. It seemed so mundane in comparison to everything else that he had seen and heard.

“Okay,” the Hatter said, cutting into Castiel's thoughts. “What I was trying to get at was that with all these different affairs, it must be difficult to keep them separate. To keep them secret. Especially from each other.”

The Knave looked confused. “I'm sure it would be, if I'd bothered to try.”

“You haven't?” the Hatter asked.

The Knave shrugged. “Nah,” he said. “Why would I? Besides, it's not as if I always meet them alone, is it? I told you: the more, the merrier.”

“Oh,” the Hatter said. He clearly did not know what else to say.

The Knave was frowning. “What's with all these questions anyway?” he asked.

The Hatter blinked and gave himself a bit of a shake. “It's a murder inquiry,” he said. “We're trying to find out who killed the Cheshire Cat.”

The Knave laughed. Then he noticed that neither the Hatter, nor Castiel were laughing, so he stopped and gave them a strange look instead. “What are you on about?” he asked. “The Cheshire Cat isn't dead.”

“Of course he is,” the Hatter said. “He was killed this morning.”

The Knave shook his head, laughing again. “I'm sorry to break this to you, darling, but it seems you've lost the few marbles that you had left. If I were you, I'd go look for them, rather than waste my time trying to catch some red herring.”

With those words and shaking his head in amusement, he left Castiel and the Hatter standing by the hedge and walked over to watch the game more closely.


	8. Awaiting Answers

Castiel and the Hatter stared after the Knave for a long while. Then they turned to each other. The Hatter looked as confused as Castiel felt. He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and closed it. Then he opened it and closed it again. Finally, he scratched his head, setting his hat askew, and sighed.

“Right, then,” he said. “Come on!”

He strode off between the hedges and Castiel hurried to follow him. They walked through the maze until they found themselves in another open area. In the middle of it, there was a large fountain. Rather unsurprisingly, it was shaped like a rose, carved out of coral red marble. The fountain was surrounded by white marble benches and bright green grass. The Hatter and Castiel walked over to the benches to sit down. Castiel felt rather confused as to what they were doing there and he told the Hatter so.

“We're waiting,” the Hatter told him. It was a good reason, but Castiel still felt that some of the explanation was missing.

“For what?” he asked.

“An answer,” the Hatter replied.

Castiel tilted his head. “To what?”

“To the mystery,” the Hatter said. “The mystery of the Cat that was murdered, but isn't dead.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “But if the Cat isn't dead, he can't have been murdered. Can he?”

“I didn't think so,” the Hatter said, “but it would seem that I was wrong. That's why it's a mystery.”

“And you think the answer will come to us if we wait?” Castiel said doubtfully.

The Hatter shrugged. “If it's a good answer,” he said. “Good things come to those who wait.” He frowned and scratched his jaw. “I've always wondered about that. Why are good things so slow that you have to wait for them? And does that mean that the bad things are much quicker? Or don't they come at all? Maybe they're so bad because they keep getting lost and then they go to the wrong person. Maybe the bad things would really be good things, if only they could find the right person.”

Castiel thought about this. Surely, the Apocalypse would not have been a good thing, whoever it had found. Although, he supposed that it did depend on who you talked to. If you talked to Raphael, then he would be sure to tell you that the Apocalypse was truly excellent. But Castiel thought that that said more about Raphael than about the Apocalypse. He decided against telling the Hatter this, however, since he had a feeling that it would require quite a lot of explaining.

While they waited, the Hatter asked Castiel many questions, the answers to which he did not have to wait for. The questions were about the world outside of Wonderland, what Castiel did there and about his friends. The Hatter seemed especially curious about Dean and about Castiel's relationship with Dean. Castiel tried to answer his questions, but it was difficult to find the words to explain their relationship. He wondered if there even were any words to describe it. His and Dean's relationship had always seemed to defy both expectations and definition. What he did say, however, was enough for the Hatter to reach his own conclusions.

“You love him,” he said. It was not a question, nor did it need to be.

“Of course,” Castiel said. There had been a time when he had been less certain. Angels had always believed that they were incapable of what they considered human emotions, but Castiel now knew it not to be so. “He is my friend.”

The Hatter smiled. It was a strange smile, small and soft, and a little bit sad. “I didn't mean it like that,” he said. “I meant that you're _in_ love with him.”

Castiel did not know what to say to that. He had never considered the idea. His love for Dean was beyond question. The nature of that love, however, was something that he had never chosen to examine. It was part of that thing that always made him feel so odd around Dean, but which he had chosen not to think about for fear that it would only make him unhappy. Trust Dean, regardless of incarnation, to be the one to force him to confront his fears.

He supposed that it was no great surprise. After all, he was not a fool. Some part of him had known what it all meant that Dean's mere presence felt as a warm cloak; that his smile was more blinding than the sun; that Castiel would happily spend his days counting Dean's freckles. He had known why he was so eager to grasp any excuse to see Dean and why, every time he left him, he felt as though he left a piece of his grace behind. He had known, but he had forced himself to forget, because Dean did not love him. Dean did not want or need his love, and Castiel wanted to be what Dean needed. Because he loved him. No wonder that humans always said that feelings were complicated. Castiel almost felt dizzy just thinking about it.

The Hatter was watching him, still with that strange smile on his face. When Castiel met his eyes, the Hatter merely shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, “that happens.”

“Dean is my friend,” Castiel said. He thought that maybe he was trying to remind himself of that fact.

“So you said,” the Hatter said. “If that’s the case, you don’t need to worry. He won't stop being your friend, just because you love him. But you should be honest with him.”

“I don't wish to make him uncomfortable,” Castiel said.

The Hatter laughed. “I don't think you can avoid it,” he said. Castiel did not find that very reassuring. “Look,” the Hatter said, looking more serious than Castiel had ever seen him, “if Dean is anything like me, then he hates lies more than anything. And if you keep your feelings from him, then you're as good as lying. Which would you rather do, make him uncomfortable or make him upset?”

Castiel could not answer or even meet his gaze. He knew that the Hatter was right, but the Hatter did not know everything. Because they were so similar, the Hatter probably knew Dean, even though they had never met. However, he did not know Castiel. He did not know how many things Castiel was keeping from Dean, how many lies there already were between them. Everything that Castiel had done, he had done for Dean, but he felt sure that Dean would not see it that way. And when Dean found out, as he probably would, it would all be over. Then a tiny lie, such as Castiel pretending that he did not love Dean the way he did, would hardly matter.

The Hatter sighed. “Just think it over,” he said.


	9. The Clever Cat

To Castiel's great surprise, an answer did come to them, although not in the form that either of them had expected. In fact, the form of the answer was so unexpected that it took them a long while to recognize it as an answer. At first, the Hatter, at least, thought of it only as a nuisance.

They were still sitting at the fountain and talking, when they heard footsteps approaching on the gravel behind the hedges. A peculiar creature appeared in view. It had the legs and arms of a human, albeit a very small one, but it had the head and tail of a fish. Just as the Frog, it was dressed in livery, although this creature's livery was slightly different, indicating that he worked for someone else. Castiel remembered the conversation between the Hatter and the Caterpillar and guessed that this was the Queen's footman.

The Hatter looked somewhat wary as the Fish-Footman walked up to him. It took a big letter from underneath its arm and held it out to the Hatter. “From the Queen,” he intoned solemnly. “An invitation for the Hatter and his guest to appear at court.”

“Oh,” the Hatter said. He looked less than thrilled about the invitation. “Well. Tell her we're flattered, but...”

“She knows,” the Fish-Footman said, “but if she is feeling especially generous today, you may be allowed to tell her when you see her.” He turned around and walked back the way he had come, looking as dignified as he could with a fishtail hanging out of the back of its trousers.

The Hatter sighed and opened the letter. “Yeah,” he said, “I thought it'd be a bit much to hope for that the invitation would be addressed to another Hatter.”

Castiel tilted his head. “I thought you were the only Hatter in Wonderland,” he said.

“I am,” the Hatter said. “That's why it was a bit much to hope for.” He sighed again. “Come on, then! I'd tell you to hang on to your hat, but I'm actually far more worried about your head.”

*****

When Castiel and the Hatter got to court, it seemed that every inhabitant of Wonderland was already there. The King and Queen were sitting on their thrones at the front of the room. The King looked very strange, with a great wig on his head and his crown on top of it. He did not look very comfortable. He kept having to adjust the wig and the crown, since one or the other was constantly sliding, taking the other with it. The Rabbit was standing beside the King and the Dormouse was standing in front of them, wearing chains and flanked on either side by a card soldier. There was also a jury-box with twelve jurors and rows of benches on which the curious and the summoned could sit and watch.

The Hare was standing between the first row of benches and the jury box. He looked very tired. His suit was wrinkled and his ears drooped. The Hatter and Castiel walked up to him. “What's going on?” the Hatter asked. “What's all the commotion?” There was a lot of talking and whispering going on, not to mention a lot of craning of necks and looking around.

“I don't know,” the Hare replied. “All I know is that the King had just asked the jury to consider their verdict for the twelfth time today, when he got a letter. Apparently, it mentioned some new evidence that needed to be taken into account.”

“What new evidence?” the Hatter asked, sounding surprised.

“I said it was new,” the Hare said, “not that I knew. If I knew, it wouldn't be new; it would be known.”

“All right,” the Hatter said. “Don't get your scut in a twist!”

The Hare's nose twitched. “That was once,” he said, “and we agreed never to mention it again.”

The Hatter grinned. “I didn't,” he said. “It was hilarious.”

The Hare glared at him. It was obvious that he wanted to retaliate, but he restrained himself. “Be quiet,” he said instead. “Something's happening.”

Something was happening. The great doors at the back of the court had opened. Two club-wielding soldiers entered, dragging a big sack between them. They dragged it up in front of the thrones and dropped it, stepping hurriedly away. Castiel thought they looked nervous. He could not understand why, until he noticed that the sack seemed to be moving. Everyone else seemed to have noticed, as well, because there was an increase in the whispering, talking and craning of necks.

“What the...?” the Hatter and the Hare said at the same time.

The strings that were holding the sack together suddenly came apart and the sack flew open. A great, big cat leaped out.

The first thing that Castiel noticed was the Cat's size. He thought that the Cat was the largest cat that he had ever seen, before he remembered how very small he himself was. Then he thought that the Cat was the largest cat that he had ever seen, relative to his own size.

The second thing that Castiel noticed was how everyone seemed very startled to see the Cat. Some people screamed, some people stared and some people tried to flee. The latter group weren't very successful, unless their idea of fleeing was to run around in circles, until they ran headlong into each other and knocked themselves out.

The third thing that Castiel noticed about the Cat was that, despite his vivid colors, his fluffy fur and his feline body, there was no mistaking that grin or those mischievous eyes.

The fourth thing that he noticed was how the appearance of the Cat made all the pieces of the puzzle begin to come together.

“I assume that's the Cheshire Cat,” he said to the Hatter.

The Hatter nodded. He was grinning hugely. “I guess the Knave was right,” he said. “Who would have thought? Maybe now we'll get the answer to the mystery.”

The Cat was prancing and preening in front of the thrones, seemingly very pleased with the reaction that he had got. The King was banging one of the soldiers' clubs on the arm of his throne and shouting for order. The Queen was yelling, “Off with his head! Off with her head!”, but as she failed to specify who ‘he’ or ‘she’ was, her soldiers ignored her. The Hatter had begun laughing so hard that he could barely stay upright. The Hare glared at him, but he did not seem very sincere, and it was not long before he too began laughing. The Dormouse, who had been snoozing on his feet, woke up and took a look around. He rolled his eyes, shook his head, muttered about “idjits and dumbasses”, and went back to sleep.

In the midst of all the chaos, the Cat met Castiel's eyes. He winked once with one eye, then winked out of existence. Castiel blinked. “Where did he go?” he asked the Hatter. He had to wait while the Hatter wiped the tears from his eyes and caught his breath, before he got an answer.

The Hatter looked around, only now noticing that the Cat had gone. He shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “He does that.” He turned to the Hare, who was still leaning against the jury-box and sniggering loudly. “Hey,” he said, punching the Hare in the arm. “You've got this, yeah?” The Hare nodded and waved a paw at them dismissively. The Hatter grabbed Castiel's arm and dragged him away from the pandemonium of the court.

*****

The mystery of where the Cat had gone solved itself very quickly. The Hatter brought Castiel back to his house, and when the Hatter opened the door, they found the Cat lounging on the carpet in front of the Hatter's fireplace. He was purring. The Hatter threw Castiel a surprised look, but said nothing. Instead he merely entered the house, closely followed by Castiel. The Cat opened one lazy eye and purred even more loudly.

“Castiel,” he said. “How _wonderrrr_ ful to see you!”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said, bowing his head in greeting. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here.”

The Cat, who was also Gabriel, got up onto his four paws and stretched languidly. He was still grinning. “No,” he said. “You really shouldn't. Honestly, Castiel, it's as if you don't know me at all.”

The Hatter was looking between them, frowning. “You two know each other?” he asked.

Castiel nodded, not taking his eyes off the Cat. “He was my brother,” he said.

“Was?” the Hatter asked.

“He's dead,” Castiel replied. He knew it to be true, even though he had not been there to witness Gabriel's demise himself. Dean had told him that Gabriel had been killed by Lucifer, after finally making the choice to stop running and stand up against his brother. It had been a noble death and it had made Castiel regret the fact that he had never truly known his brother. What he did know, however, was that Gabriel never did anything without a reason. His actions may seem like they were done for his sheer amusement, but there was always some deeper thought behind them. Usually, there was some lesson to be taught and Castiel had no doubt that this time, he was the intended pupil.

“Huh,” the Hatter said. He did not sound very shocked to learn that the being in front of him was not actually alive. Castiel supposed that it would take a lot to truly shock an inhabitant of Wonderland. “If you ask me, it looks like the rumors of his death were highly exaggerated.”

“Oh, no,” the Cat said. “Castiel is right. I'm a doornail. You may as well grab your hammer and pound me into the door.” He tilted his head in a thoughtful gesture, before grinning again. “That sounded kind of dirty, didn’t it?”

Castiel did not reply. Instead he asked, “How are you here?”

The Cat shrugged. It was a very strange movement for a cat. “This is Wonderland,” he said, “where impossible things happen all the time.”

“It's true,” the Hatter agreed. “If we haven't had three of them before breakfast, we know it's going to be a dull day.”

Castiel ignored him, focusing instead on his brother. “What do you want, Gabriel?” he asked instead.

Gabriel's grin vanished as quickly as he himself had in court. His eyes were suddenly sad and serious. “I thought you could use some advice, little bro,” he said. “It occurred to me that you're not very used to making your own choices. It's not as easy as it looks. I should know.”

Castiel had to fight the urge to turn around and leave. He had a feeling that this was not going to be a conversation that he would enjoy. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he told Gabriel. It surprised him how easily the lie fell off his tongue.

Of course, the ease of the lie did not keep Gabriel from recognizing it. After all, he was the master of the art. He shook his head and tutted. “Of course you do,” he said. “Poor little Castiel! They really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

Castiel frowned. “Who did?” he asked.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “The Winchesters, of course,” he said. “They do have a habit of turning people’s lives upside down. That is, when they’re not busy sending you to your death.”

Castiel prepared to defend Sam and Dean, but Gabriel waved him off with one striped paw. “I know,” he said, “and don’t worry. I don’t blame them. It was my choice. Sure, that knucklehead you’re always mooning over may have talked me into it, but that’s only because he had a point. Lucky accident, I’m sure, but every dog has its day. Anyway, the point is that I may have died, but at least I did the right thing. It took me a while, but I got there in the end. And now it’s time for me to impart that hard earned wisdom to you, little bro, because apparently, that’s what big brothers do.”

“Hold on,” the Hatter began to say, “what...?”

Gabriel interrupted him. “Not now, buddy,” he said. “This doesn’t really concern you. Why don’t you just stand there and look pretty, while I talk to my brother here.”

“Okay, seriously,” the Hatter said, sounding exasperated, “what is it with the ‘pretty‘ comments today?”

Gabriel appeared to consider this, as he ran his eyes over the Hatter’s body. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I think it’s the jacket. It really brings out the color of your eyes.”

The Hatter opened his mouth to speak, but immediately closed it again. He blinked twice, before looking down at himself. Then he shrugged and said, “Right, then.” He walked over to the sofa and sat down, leaning forward as if to watch a performance.

The lack of protest seemed to catch Gabriel by surprise. He stared at the Hatter, who simply looked back placidly. After a moment of this, Gabriel sat down on his back haunches and said, “Okay. Good.” He looked at Castiel. “If only Dean were that obedient, eh?”

“Then he wouldn’t be Dean,” Castiel replied, although secretly, a part of him agreed.

Gabriel shrugged one shoulder, as if he reluctantly had to concede the point, before turning serious again. “Look, Castiel,” he said. “I get it. Really, I do. Making decisions is tough. Making the right ones - that’s even tougher. But guess what? That’s what you get when you throw fate out the window and choose free will. No one’s going to tell you how to get from point A to point B; no one’s going to lead you to the answers. And those answers sure as hell aren’t going to just drop into your lap. That shit just happens in Wonderland. Here, you don’t really need to ask any questions; in fact, it’s usually better if you just roll with it. If you start trying to figure things out, you’ll just end up like our friend the Hatter, here.” He raised one paw to his temple and moved it in a circle.

“Hey!” the Hatter said.

Gabriel turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously?” he said. “You’re going to try to deny it?”

“No,” the Hatter said, somewhat petulantly, “but you say it like it’s a bad thing.”

Gabriel just shook his head, before directing his focus back on Castiel. “You know what’s one of the biggest wonders about Wonderland? How straightforward everything is. I mean, I know that a lot of it just seems like nonsense, but think about it. Most of the confusion is due to the fact that we’re so used to having to look for hidden meanings. People here mean exactly what they say and they say what they mean. They don’t really lie or obfuscate. They rarely have any hidden agenda. Sure, they have secrets. But those secrets aren’t exactly difficult to uncover. All you have to do is ask the right questions.”

Castiel frowned. He wished Gabriel would just say what he meant. “What are you trying to say?” he asked.

“That that’s what you have to start doing, Castiel,” Gabriel replied. “You have to start asking the right questions. Start thinking for yourself. Because now you’re just doing what you’ve always done and going along with someone else’s plan.” He shook his head sadly. “I mean, really, Castiel? Crowley? That’s who chose to ally yourself with?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. He did not appreciate the tone of Gabriel’s voice. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “I couldn’t let Raphael win. I couldn’t defeat him on my own. Crowley’s plan was the only solution.”

“Was it?” Gabriel asked. “Or was it just the only one that presented itself to you? I told you, Cas, you can’t just sit around and wait for someone else to give you the answers. You can’t just accept what others tell you. Because people lie, Castiel, and demons lie even more. And a demon like Crowley? You can be pretty sure that he lies, even when he’s telling you the truth. He’ll twist it until it becomes a roller coaster that you can’t get off of.”

“I am aware of that,” Castiel said, his voice rising in frustration. He was tired of being treated like a simpleton. “You can’t seriously believe that I trust him, that I’m happy to be working with him?”

“So why are you?” Gabriel asked. The question sounded genuine, as if he truly did not understand.

Castiel stared at him for a moment in exasperation. “Because no one else can help me,” he said finally. It was strangely painful to admit it and he was careful not to look at the Hatter. He did not need any further reminder of just whose help he would have preferred.

Apparently, Gabriel’s mind was turned in a similar direction. “ _No one_ else can help you?” he asked.

Castiel shook his head. He felt tired, suddenly; tired and alone. “No,” he said. “No one.”

Gabriel nodded. “I see,” he said. “So there’s no one you know who could defeat an archangel and stop the Apocalypse? Who has, in fact, already done so?”

“Sam was in Hell,” Castiel said, “and Dean...” He hesitated, trying to decide whether or not he should lie. Not that it would do him any good. Gabriel would guess the truth, anyway. Instead, he stared his brother straight in the eye, hoping to make him understand. “He’d already sacrificed everything. I couldn’t burden him with this, as well.”

Gabriel’s eyes were soft and sad. He did seem to understand. “Of course you couldn’t,” he said and it sounded as if he meant it. “But Sam isn’t in Hell anymore. You got him out. Stellar work on that, by the way! I’m sure he must have been easier to carry without that heavy soul to weigh him down.”

“I didn’t know,” Castiel said. It was true. When he had saved Sam, he had had no idea of the mistake that he had made.

“I know,” Gabriel said. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. We can’t change the past, after all. My point is that Sam is out of the cage and Dean’s back in the life. And you still haven’t told them. If you’re so sure that what you’re doing is right and that it’s the only option, why all the lies, Castiel?”

Castiel could not answer. Instead he simply stared at Gabriel helplessly.

Fortunately, the Hatter chose that moment to break his silence. “Okay,” he said, “that’s it. Someone needs to explain what’s going on.”

Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes. “I should have known it’d be too good to last,” he said. He turned to the Hatter. “Listen, kid, I told you...”

“... it doesn’t concern me,” the Hatter finished. “Yeah, I heard you. But here’s the thing: This is _my_ house and the Angel here is _my_ friend, so I think that makes this _my_ business.”

“And you’d be right,” Gabriel said, “except for one thing: This is _my_ playground and we’re playing by _my_ rules. But I can play nice. I can,” he protested, when Castiel gave him a doubtful look. “All you need to know,” he told the Hatter, “is that my brother here has made some bad choices. He’s hanging with the wrong crowd and lying to his friends about it.”

“Cas?” the Hatter said. He sounded hesitant, the way Dean did when he heard something he did not want to believe.

Castiel turned his face away. “You don’t understand,” he told them both. “It was my only choice.”

“It was a crappy choice,” the Hatter said, “if you have to lie about it. You know who lies, Cas? People who have something to hide, something they’re ashamed of. If you really thought you were doing the right thing, you wouldn’t have to hide it.”

“You’re wrong,” Castiel said, finally able to look him in the eye again. “I know what I’m doing is right. The reason that I haven’t talked to Dean about it is because I don’t want to burden him unnecessarily. I can handle it on my own.”

The look that the Hatter gave him looked almost sympathetic. “Didn’t we talk about this earlier?” he asked. “You don’t want to burden him. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable.” He shook his head. “Dude, you’ve got to stop trying to protect him. He’s a grown-ass man; I’m sure he can take care of himself.” He paused, biting his lip and narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “Although,” he said slowly, “if you ask me, it sounds like the person you’re really lying to is yourself. I think you’re afraid. I think the reason you’re keeping things from him is that you’re scared that they’ll drive him away. You’re scared you’d lose him. Well, guess what?” He took a step closer, until his face was all that Castiel could see. “If you keep this up, I can pretty much promise that you’ll lose him. All these lies, all the deception - that’s what’s really going to drive him away. You need to talk to him. Tell him what’s going on! Let him help you! Because that’s what friends do, Angel! They help each other out. It’s what you’ve been doing all day, isn’t it? Helping me out. Not because you had to, not because there was anything in it for you, but because you think of me as your friend. And I am. Which is why I’m trying to return the favor. You’ve got to trust me, Angel. Talk to him. _That’s_ your only option.”

He sighed and took a few steps backwards, until Castiel could see the Cat behind him. Gabriel was watching the Hatter with a pensive look on his face. When he noticed Castiel’s eyes on him, he broke into a grin again. “Hatter,” he said, “don’t take this the wrong way, but that actually made a lot of sense.”

The Hatter grimaced. “I know,” he said. “I think the Angel’s broken me. I’m going to have to drink for a week after he’s gone, just to become myself again.”

Gabriel jumped onto the desk beside him and patted his cheek with one striped paw. “There, there,” he said, consolingly. The Hatter glared at him and swatted at his paw, but Gabriel only laughed. Then he looked at Castiel. “Well?” he asked. “Is any of this getting through that thick skull of yours? Honestly, Cas, you didn’t use to be this dense. I think it must be the company you keep.”

“Dean isn’t stupid,” Castiel said. It felt easier to defend Dean from Gabriel’s usual insults than to address what the Hatter had said. The truth was that his speech _had_ made sense and hearing it spoken in Dean’s voice, from Dean’s lips, only made the impression stronger.

Gabriel sighed and shook his head. He clearly saw straight through Castiel’s weak attempt at diversion. “No,” he agreed with uncharacteristic solemnity, “he’s not. So maybe you should stop underestimating him.”

Castiel did not reply immediately. He stood for a moment, staring at nothing, before he finally came to a decision. “Fine,” he said. “I'll talk to him. Once I get back.” He looked at Gabriel. “Can you take me back?” he asked.

“No,” Gabriel replied, “but he can.” He grinned and nodded at the Hatter. “You see, Wonderland is sort of like a dream and you're kind of like the sleeping princess. And you know how to wake sleeping princesses, don't you?”

Castiel did know. Apparently, so did the Hatter, because his face had suddenly turned flaming red. “Wh-what?” he stuttered. “I haven't... I don't...”

Gabriel smirked. “Now, now, Hatter,” he said reproachfully. “No lies, remember? You have and you do.” As he spoke, he began fading, until finally only his eyes and his grinning mouth remained. Then he winked and was gone.

The Hatter and Castiel simply stared at each other, neither of them able to move. Castiel felt that strange sensation again that he so often felt around Dean, where his vessel became uncomfortably hot and his angelic essence became inexplicably restless. The Hatter licked his lips. When his eyes dropped to Castiel's lips, Castiel realized that he had copied the motion. Then the Hatter's hands were gripping his arms, holding him in place. His face was moving closer and closer.

With a loud pop, the Cat appeared again, causing the Hatter and Castiel to leap apart. Gabriel surveyed them with amusement, before turning to Castiel. “Oh, and bro,” he said, “no welshing or you'll find yourself back here before you can blink. I'll be keeping an eye on you.”

As if to demonstrate this point, he vanished from view again, only leaving one of his big eyes behind, staring at them. The Hatter shifted uncomfortably, obviously trying not to look at it. He was rubbing his neck and glancing up at Castiel from underneath his lashes. Castiel looked back, feeling awkward. He knew what they needed to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but the moment had been broken and Castiel did not know how to get it back. The Cat's eye rolled. It looked sort of disgusting. Then its mouth appeared again.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll leave you two alone, since you're obviously so fricking shy about it. Now pucker up, boys!” He made a series of kissing noises that continued even after he was gone.

“You know,” the Hatter said, “I know he's your brother and all, but I may actually have to kill him after all this is done.”

Castiel shrugged. “You wouldn't be the first,” he said, “and probably not the last.”

The Hatter made a face of agreement. Then he moved closer. “So,” he said, taking Castiel's hand in his.

“So,” Castiel repeated.

“I guess you're leaving,” the Hatter said. It was not a question, so Castiel did not bother replying. Nor did the Hatter seem to expect him to, because he immediately continued, “Don't let this go to your head or anything, but it wasn't exactly a pain having you here.” He bit his lip, then added, “I may even come to miss you.”

Castiel could not help but give him a small smile at that. “And I you,” he said.

The Hatter smirked. His face was inches from Castiel's own. It would have been the prefect opportunity for Castiel to accurately count his freckles, if Castiel could only remember how to count. “Does that mean that you do like me, after all?” the Hatter teased.

Castiel nodded. He could feel the Hatter's breath against his lips and had to swallow hard. “Very much,” he replied. Without realizing it, he had closed his eyes, but it did not matter. The Hatter's hands were gripping his arms again, his lips were brushing against Castiel’s and Castiel could feel it when the smirk softened into a genuine smile. Then the Hatter’s mouth was enveloping his, his tongue sweeping along Castiel’s lower lip and Castiel surrendered himself to the sensation.


	10. Wonders Never Cease

The building was dark and dusty; it smelled of old books and neglect. It had once been a bookshop, specializing in children's fiction, but big chain stores and an already waning clientele had driven it out of business. Now all that remained was the old sign hanging over the door, rows of bookcases falling apart and a number of forgotten tomes. Dean knew that Sam, following close behind him, was mourning its death. He was probably composing a fucking eulogy, as they silently made their way further inside. Dean did not care, as long as it was the only eulogy that he would have cause to write that night.

The thought made his stomach clench and his throat contract with fear. What if they were too late? They had got the message the previous morning and Dean had driven like a maniac to get here, only letting Sam take the wheel when his brother had pointed out that they would be of no use to anyone, wrapped around a tree. Even then it had been impossible to sleep; scenario upon scenario playing out behind his eyes, each one worse than the last. The words of the message kept echoing inside his skull:

_Castiel needs help._ And this address. No explanation. No sender.

It was most likely a trap. Both Dean and Sam had agreed on that, just as they had agreed that they were going anyway. Especially after Sam had run a trace on Castiel's mobile, which placed it at this location. If Castiel was in trouble, there was no way that they were just going to abandon him. Not after everything that the angel had done for them.

Of course, it was not just gratitude that had fear freezing the blood in Dean's veins, until his heart was pure ice. Gratitude could not explain the way the beam of the flashlight shook or how his breathing carved through the silence like a blunt knife. What Dean felt for Castiel had never been as simple or as mundane as mere gratitude.

"Dean." Sam's whisper behind him tore Dean's mind back from the realm of anxiety that it had entered and called his attention to the door that stood ajar behind the last row of bookcases. A warm, flickering light seemed to call them forward. To light a fire in a bookshop should seem destructive at best, but Dean thought he knew what kind of fire this was and that it was as dangerous to them as an electric fireplace. Daring to hope that this meant that whoever had brought them there was keeping Castiel alive, he crept closer to the door and peered inside.

As Dean had expected, Castiel was there, surrounded by a ring of fire. More troubling was the fact that he seemed to be unconscious. He was lying curled up on his side, his face smooth and expressionless. In the light of the flames that danced around him, he looked as if he was glowing. Golden highlights made a halo of his dark hair and his lips were softly parted. With his eyes closed to hide that ageless gaze, he looked impossibly young and innocent. He had never looked more angelic and Dean would have marveled at his unexpected beauty, if not for the sudden certainty that almost brought him to his knees. Castiel was too powerful to render unconscious - he must be dead.

Fortunately, Sam was there to take action while his brother was paralyzed with fear. He moved forward quickly, his long legs carrying him to Castiel's side in just a few long strides. His head moved from side to side, obviously wary of any danger that hid in the dark corners of the room. None became apparent, even as he stood outside the flaming circle and turned his attention to the angel within.

"Dean," he said. "We need to put out the fire." His voice was enough to snap Dean out of his stupor and he looked around for anything that could help. All the furniture of the room seemed to have been moved to the back wall and covered with what looked like heavy drapes. Dean called Sam's attention to those drapes and they each grabbed one to beat at the flames. It did not take them long until the fire had been reduced to a charred, smoldering circle in the wooden floor.

Sam knelt beside Castiel, while Dean watched, dreading the confirmation of his fears. He saw Sam reach out and grab Castiel's shoulder, trying to shake him awake. To Dean's unutterable relief, it worked. Castiel stirred, mumbling something that sounded like "Gabriel" and something that sounded like "wonder". His eyes blinked open and for a moment, they remained distant, as if still focusing on some faraway scene. Then they were filled with the realization of their surroundings and Castiel sat up suddenly, his body preparing to fight.

Dean was not even aware that he had knelt down beside Sam, before he found his hands clutching a trench-coat clad arm bracingly. "Whoa, easy there," he said. "Relax, Cas! It's just us."

Cas' eyes fixed on Dean, as intense as ever, but some of the tension seemed to drain from his body. "What happened?" he asked, his voice even rougher than usual. "Where am I?"

"You're okay," Dean said, instead of replying to his questions. "We're not sure what happened, but you seem fine."

Castiel looked around, his familiar frown back in place. "How did I get here?" he asked.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam beat him to it. Somehow, without Dean noticing, his brother had moved away into one of the corners. "There are some strange symbols here," he said, "and signs of a ritual. I'm guessing you were summoned here. Must have been someone seriously powerful."

Castiel seemed to think this over. Dean could practically see his mind working to put the pieces together. Whatever conclusion he reached, it obviously unsettled him, because he leaped to his feet. "What day is it?" he asked.

"Thursday," Dean replied. "Dude, what...?"

"Thursday," Castiel repeated. "I've been gone for three days."

"Okay," Dean said, "but what...?"

"I need to get back," Castiel interrupted him. Dean's stomach sank. Of course he did. Never mind that Dean was bursting with questions, never mind that he had been crazy with anxiety. Heaven called and Castiel was gone.

Except he wasn't. He was still standing there, staring down at Dean. He seemed to be considering something. Now that the fire was out, the room was dark, but Dean didn't think that the shadow that passed over Castiel's face was entirely due to the absence of light.

"What?" he asked again. Castiel shook his head, but he was still staring. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision. Judging by the way his shoulders slumped and his face became abruptly blank, it was not an easy one.

"We need to talk," he said. The gravity of his tone sent shivers down Dean's spine.

"Okay," Dean said, getting slowly to his feet. Sam came up to stand beside him, looking as apprehensive as Dean felt. “So talk. Tell us what happened. What do you remember?”

Castiel sighed. He looked tired, but there was a strange smile on his face. "Everything," he said, "and nothing." He looked Dean in the eye again. "Please, Dean! There are things I need to tell you. Things you may not want to hear."

That didn’t sound promising and the hopelessness of Castiel’s tone was not exactly comforting, either. Whatever he had to talk about, it obviously wasn’t good news. Dean took a deep breath to steel himself. Without thinking about it, he reached out a hand to grab Castiel’s wrist, wanting to feel warm skin under his fingers. “I’m listening,” he said.

There was that strange smile again. It looked sad, almost wistful, but also unspeakably fond. There was something lurking behind Castiel's eyes, something that had always been there, but never as strong. Maybe it had just been more hidden. Dean could not put a name to it, but he suspected that Castiel could probably see a reflection of it in his own eyes. It could explain why his gaze dropped to Dean's lips for a brief moment, making Dean's heart tremble with feelings stronger than his previous fear. His fingers tightened on Castiel's wrist and he leaned forward infinitesimally.

The moment was broken when Sam cleared his throat. Dean almost jumped. Somehow, he had forgotten that Sam was there. He dropped Castiel’s wrist and took a quick step backwards, his cheeks burning. When he glanced over at Sam, he seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Dean and Cas.

“Do I need to hear this?” he asked. “If not, I could just wait in the car, until you guys are done talking.”

He put a strange emphasis on the word ‘talking’, which made Dean’s cheeks heat up even more. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d come close to losing Cas before - hell, he _had_ lost him - but he’d never lost his mind like this. Feeling decidedly unsettled, he dug around in his pocket for the keys and threw them to Sam.

“Here,” he said. “We’ll be right out.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him and glanced meaningfully at Castiel, who was ignoring the exchange in favor of staring at Dean. Not that that was anything new.

“Uh huh,” Sam said. “Take your time!” He turned to leave, but Dean still caught his muttered, “Frickin’ finally.”

Feeling annoyed, embarrassed and inexplicably warm, not only in his cheeks, Dean turned back to Castiel. Dean stepped closer again, but refrained from touching Cas this time. “What’s going on, Cas?” he asked.

Cas shook his head, apparently not knowing how to begin. He looked away again, but this time it seemed to be because he couldn’t bring himself to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean’s heart sank. After a long moment of tense silence, Dean couldn’t take it any longer. “Cas?” he prompted.

“Dean,” Castiel replied. He sounded determined. His gaze finally rose to meet Dean's again, but Dean could not even begin to discern all the emotions therein. All he knew was that he was suddenly having difficulties breathing. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t worry so much about it,” he said. “Just say it.”

Castiel nodded. He was staring again, that piercing stare that felt as if he was looking straight into Dean’s brain. Dean really hoped he wasn’t. There were thoughts in there that he was trying to hide even from himself.

“The first thing I need to tell you,” he said, “is this.” Before Dean could react, Castiel had leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against his. Dean stood frozen to the spot, unable to make himself move. Castiel's lips were soft, but slightly dry, and the kiss was almost chaste. Still, it was undeniably a kiss and even Dean could not doubt its meaning. Nor could he pretend that it was entirely unexpected, or even unwelcome. The only thing that surprised him was that it was Castiel who had made the first move. Dean was just about to put his arms around Castiel and draw him closer, when Castiel pulled away.

“That was better,” he said hoarsely. “So much better, when it’s _you_.”

Dean wanted to ask what he meant, but he had a feeling now was not the time. Instead, they simply stared at each other for several long moments in silence, which was only broken by Dean's heavy breathing and the strong, fast beats of his heart. Then Dean raised his hand and placed it around Castiel's neck to pull him into another kiss. Castiel made a soft noise and went willingly. They stood for several moments, exchanging slow, deep kisses. Finally, Castiel put his hands against Dean's chest and pushed him away.

“Okay,” Dean said. “So not nearly as bad as you made it sound.” He knew that he must have the stupidest smile on his face, but he couldn’t seem to get rid of it. Not that it mattered. The only person there to see it was Castiel and considering the dazed look on his face, he was in no position to make fun of Dean.

Dean was just about to lean in again to see if he could kiss Castiel out of his dazzled state, when something occurred to him. “Wait,” he said. “You said first of all. Does that mean that there’s something else that you want to tell me?”

Castiel was still staring at Dean's lips, obviously dumbstruck. Judging by the expression on his face, Dean thought that he probably hadn't expected Dean to react as he had. How Castiel could have doubted it, he didn't know, but it made him even more surprised that Castiel was the one to have initiated the first kiss. There was still the matter of the second thing that Castiel had to tell him, however, so Dean waved a hand in front of Castiel to draw his attention away from Dean's mouth, before Dean became as distracted as he was.

Castiel blinked and transferred his gaze to Dean's eyes. This time, Dean had no trouble reading the amazement and the joy in them. He could also see the moment those emotions were replaced by something darker and more desperate. “Cas?” he asked. “The second thing.”

Castiel shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. His eyes kept moving over Dean's face, obviously searching for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it, because the troubled expression that had clouded his face suddenly cleared. Slowly, almost hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed, he raised a hand and ran his fingers lightly over Dean's lower lip. Dean caught his hand and kissed his fingertips. Castiel didn't smile, but his face softened in a way that Dean had never seen before. It made something lodge in Dean's throat, cutting off his air-supply and making him light-headed. Castiel's fingers moved from Dean's mouth to cup his cheek, as he brought their faces closer together.

“It can wait,” he said quietly. His lips brushed against Dean's as he spoke. “This is more important.”

Dean had no idea what it was that Castiel had wanted to talk about, but he was still inclined to agree. Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly compare to the gentle movements of Castiel's lips against his, Castiel's taste in his mouth and Castiel's body pressed against his. He felt dizzy and unfettered, and the rest of the world seemed to fade away. The ground seemed to vanish beneath him, as he clung to the angel in his arms. It felt almost as if he was flying, but for once, the idea didn't scare him. Instead, it made him feel almost crazy with exhilaration. He knew that Castiel would catch him if he fell.


End file.
